The one thing I know above all else is that no matter what happens, no matter how tired you might be, no matter how hard the world hits you or how hard you fall down, you have to get back up and keep swinging.
You always have to fight back as hard as you can.
You have to swing that axe and let the chips fall where they may.
I know this
And you do too.

I have seen great things. I have been to great places.
I have had good times and I have had bad times.
I have seen great things and sad things.
I have see beauty and watched the most beautiful people become as ugly as their lies.
I have been sick and I have been healthy and well enough to look around and be happy with what I have.
Yes.
This is true –

Act 3: Scene: One and done
July, 1991
I went back after being ahead
And what I mean is I lost my way and went back to being lost instead of finding my way home.
I lost it all

And you look back and you think and you wonder
You wish and you dream and you have ideas of what you could have said.
I wish I said more.
I wish I did more.
I wished I was better.
I wish I was bigger and bolder.
But I was only me.

Act 2: Scene 2
December, 1989.

Exit the stage and look at the pleasant aftermath of a holiday that was well spent.
Think about this . . .
Regard the thoughts and the feelings that come with having a full belly and a happy heart after Thanksgiving dinner.
The air was growing colder in the town of Hancock, New York.
The season was underway and the mountains held the frost each morning as if to lace the trees along the mountainsides.
I can say that I had never seen a winter wonderland until I was far away from my surroundings and the so-called city life.

I was new. At least to some degree.
I was moving away from an older version of myself and yes, this was good.
Of course, this was good.

Act 2: Scene 1
November, 1989.
Everything was about to change

All the leaves on the sides of the mountains changed from green to orange and red. Most of the leaves fell in the beginning of November, but some of the remnants of autumn had yet to let go, despite the upcoming moments of winter.
It had snowed a few times.
The view was spectacular, but where I was at the time was more for a legal and therapeutic reaction to a sentenced and legal response.

Act 2: Scene 1

A new phase of life. October 1989 . . .
Late autumn, just before winter takes place.
Enter my time in the Upstate, New York mountains
Enter my moments of subtle awareness that became too painful and obvious to avoid.
Enter my moments of truth and enter the awakening that I had lived, believed, and that I surrendered and subscribed to a series of lies, deceptions, and internal dishhonesties.
Enter all of this

Act 1: Scene 3
The holding cell
I knew that an ending was on the way.
I knew the impending doom was moving too fast.

I remember being told that it is only by dying that one is awakened to eternal light.
And I remember being told that life comes with opportunities, and, so, when one door closes, another door opens.
Tragedies can lead us to the greatest comebacks, or so I was told.

I do not know about these things.
Or, maybe I know more than I think

Act 1: Scene 2
End of summer 1989 –
August was not what I assumed it was going to be

I don’t know what happened.
Then again, no one ever assumes that “this would be them,” or that the worst case would be the best case, and in my case to say the least, the worst was the best case scenario. I say this was the best case for me because had it not been for this moment; I might have not have been around to be this, your modest and humble narrator. I might not have survived or been around to tell a story about another tragic and somewhat eventful teenage life.

I found myself in the back of a squad car with handcuffs on my wrists. But please, allow me to explain.
I was sick to say the least. The junk in my veins was beginning to grow more important and so, the rules and the regulations of my habit were more concerning and certainly I realized why my habit was becoming more demanding.

Act 1: Scene 1

August, 1989, Archer Avenue across from the post office, two doors down from the numbers joint and four doors down from the methadone clinic.
Hot summer. Early morning.
Enter the sunlight. Enter the stage, dead center and in the middle of real life.
This was me and this was life as it was.
This is how everything was back then, of course

The previous night’s demons are scattered in tiny skeletons that proved our deaths with plastic vials, which have all been noted by the news and the media as an earlier epidemic that killed at different speeds.

The warm air is fading from the wind the same as the memories from last year grow more distant, just like how the Earth moves away from the sun when winter comes around.
New York City is about to see another season and I am about to undergo another change.
I know.

The world is a cyclical place. We have four seasons. We have our bouts. We have our moments of joy and pain. We have days in the sun, moments when it rains, and times when it snows.
We have mornings when the ground thaws during the first warmth in spring.
I love the differences between these seasons. And I love them all for different reasons.

My kingdom for a horse . . .
This comes from Shakespeare’s King Richard III when he said, “A horse, a horse. My kingdom for a horse.”

I suppose a horse would be of great use, or perhaps this might come at a greater expense. But more, I suppose wealth and cost is all relative when it comes to the different levels of supply and demand.
And yes. Of course!
I have my own demands, but perhaps now is not the time for to express them.

I think about myself and then of course, I think about my old and former self with the same and perhaps normal or  commonplace questions of “where have I been,” or “what the hell was I thinking?”

Maybe I should go back to that spot where healing is supposed to take place. Or maybe the special dirt that I collected did not take. Maybe I need to grab another sample from the blessed Earth behind the church in old El Chimayo or pray more, like I did that afternoon in the old chapel where I watched an old woman weep and her son wheel her chair to the nearest candle.
Maybe . . .
Maybe the answers I sought were not the answers I prayed for. Or maybe my requests were denied for reasons that did not present themselves until now.

There has to be a time when we say to hell with it. There has to be a time when we say life is life death is death and all we have is this moment. Understand?
All we have is this, which is right here and right now.
There has to come a time when enough is enough and so, now becomes the time to make a difference between the definition of what it means to live or die.
Living is far more than just existing
And dying alive is far worse than dying alone.

There is no more time to waste.
There is no more time to give in or to give up and there is no more room for excuses and doubts.

There was a big storm last night. The wind picked up and there were trees down on the street.
I can hear the wind and the rain are still blowing around but the storm has mostly passed and all that’s left are the remnants of a northeast storm that devastated the weekend.
I sit here now and I have my trusty companion with me.
Ah, thank God for trusty companions.
And no, this is not a person or an animal but instead, I have my cup of coffee which is what I needed this morning.
Or wait.
No.
I have other needs which do not need to be mentioned at this time.

I say the same thing all the time. I tell everyone if you don’t know, then you just don’t know.
And to act like you know or to insinuate that you do can be seen as an insult or counterproductive.
There is something to be said about the act and the process and the actual motions of going through something.
And I get it. Everything is subjective.
Everything is left open to interpretation and of course, fiction can become facts and facts can become fiction.
True things can be disagreed and be false and lies can become truths, at least from a personal standpoint.

We are fools at times. We are all subject to the deception of our own perception and in the case of us against life or me against me and I against I, there is a real world going on around me. There are so many things that I have not seen or experienced enough to understand and again, there are times when the fact remains.
If you don’t know, then you just don’t know.
And that’s okay . . .

I do not waste my time and tempt fate or dare the odds of my unforeseen destiny anymore.
At least, not like I used to.
I am too far gone now. I am far from the person I was and growing farther from the distant shadows that used to remind me of what took place on 3rd Avenue and 54th Street.
I am grateful for this, however, so please understand that despite my past and my mistakes; I am aware of who I am now and in the end, awareness is the key which can open the door to a brand new life.
Or, at least, so I hope.

So, you want honesty?
Okay, Let’s take it from here
Shall we?

And you know too. You know all about it.
You know about the ground beneath you and how it disappears. You know why everything you held dearly is gone and you know why the bottom lost hold and the fall is going to be far greater than any fall you’ve ever taken before.
You know.
You know all about it.

Maybe you have one or two options. Maybe there are a few choices.
Maybe.
But whatever the choices are, neither of them are attractive. None of your options are what you wanted and yet, this is it.
There you are. Alive and unwell and living pout loud while being consumed in the belly of the beast.

There was a video of a young woman who was asked why she wrote so many love poems.
The young girl responded honestly and with an answer that made sense to me.
She writes love poems instead of suicide notes.
Well done, I say.
Her answer is excellent, I tell you.

I am the same.
I write about love
or you
and I write about my love because the adverse or the opposite is unthinkable to me.

I understand what it means to feel lost or elsewhere and what t means to be or believe as if to be out of this hemisphere and more, I get how it is to seem like a stranger while alive and well and living here in familiar territory.

My best memory of times when I was supposedly well or fine enough to be welcomed is when I was alone or by myself. I chose to break free like a lion or a tiger who escaped and broke free from his cage. I chose the separation between myself and the crowd and so, I decided to go and find myself by walking around the streets of New York City.

The sun is later today. I looked up at the sky to watch the clouds moving overhead. and I can see the rain wants to let go and take a break for a while.
I can tell.
The sky has a different feel to me this morning. Maybe too many changes took place at once.
Or maybe everything is different now and the rain that came only served to wash away the remnants of my crazy yesterdays.

But dig it . . . 

It is strange to think that today marks 54 times that I have spun around the sun.
I have somehow managed to survive 54 trips.
54 birthdays.
54 times that I can say yes, I managed to pull off another year.
And yes, age is a funny thing.

Age is neither kind nor unfair and at the same time, age is one hell of a trip.
My body went from very small to bigger than what I expected. Also, my life has changed more times than people change sides with their political views.

I can understand the reason why people take a drink or a pill or look to find something that helps them sail beyond the concrete on the sidewalks of New York City.
I have been here for as long as I can remember. However, I have moved around from the Eastside, Westside, Uptown and as my life has turned, I am currently Downtown.
I work across the street from Ground Zero which is the spot where The Towers used to stand.

I am here at work more days than I am not here, which is how life goes when it comes to being an adult.
I look out from a big window on the 15th floor from my place of business and I look downward and see the memorial pools where the buildings used to stand.

And it all comes down to this. . .
There is only one truth and no amount of acting or pretending can change the truth

So then, what is true?
I suppose truth is often questioned because some people deny their truths and say “well, this is not true to me.”
But truth is truth.
Truth does not concern itself with us or how we think or feel about these things.
Truth is truth.
That is all.

I see no reason not to lie.
So, let’s be honest. I see no reason why anyone should deny their thoughts or their feelings.
Sometimes, you need to scream.

I see no reason why we don’t do this.
We should be able to scream if we need to scream.
We can shout when we need to shout.
And yes, I know.
I get it. I do
I understand this might not be a good look, so-to-speak.

The noises you hear in this place are not like anywhere else. I hate these rooms.
I hate hospitals or more, I cannot stand emergency rooms
I hate the tones from the nearby machines and the mumbling from the other patients.

I hate the dull groans from the sick and of course, I cannot stand the louder ones, or the cries in pain or the screams and the pleading for a nurse or a doctor to help come and help or take the pain away.
And the worst?
The worst are the quiet ones, the parents who sit helpless and scared, praying with all their might and whether they are faithless or not; everyone finds God when the life of their child is on the line. 

I have heard it said that you’ve grown when you start to find gratitude in the moments we are least grateful for.
I can appreciate that . . .
Maybe this is maturity. Or maybe this is what happens when we reach a better level of understanding.
Maybe this is what people call awareness. Or maybe the pain or the regrets found some kind of relief and subsided enough to let the resentments find peace.
Peace . . .
What a word this is.

Maybe this is the kind of growth that despite the storm and all the damages and the aftermath, something good came from something bad.