There is a little known truth or fact about me and my life, which of course is true because why else would I tell you?
There is something about me which is as true as anything else in this life. I am more than one person and more than three and more than my own private or personal trinity.
Or to be clear, this is not to compare myself or act is if I am anything close to the divinity of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit.
I am nothing like this and nor is this a comparison to the personal trinity of mind, body and soul.

I am simply a compilation of dreams, events, mysteries and at times, “I am fortune’s fool,” the same as Romeo was fortune’s fool when he sealed his own fate.
His heart was in the right place.
But Romeo’s fate was elsewhere.

I wonder what kind of feelings it would bring to have any gift of your choice.
Any gift you can think of
I don’t mean just a regular gift or something that can be found in a catalog, on a shelf, or on a rack in a store.
No.
A gift that goes beyond measure or even a gift that goes beyond our perception of reality . . .
Like, say, an hour or two with someone you never met but they influenced you and your life.
I wonder what it would be like to sit at a table with Jim Carroll or Frank O’Hara and maybe Kerouac and of course, William Burroughs.

It is early on a Sunday morning. The sunrise is new to the sky and the world is quiet like a church before members of the clergy arrive to prepare for the congregation.
The sun is up and so am I.
I am driving west to say the least and making my way into “The City that Never Sleeps” to pull a wage and pay down the bills which continue to pile up every month.
The quiet is loud for some reason, as if to mean the soft eeriness of the moment is fitting and matching of news, which came to me last night.

1)

I suppose this is nothing more than another “note to self,”
because of course . . .
who else am I writing to, other than you?

There is no way but up from here.
Or so I’d like to believe.
And so
I don’t know much
but I know the summer is about to show its face.
Thankfully.

I want to see myself somewhere far from here, lost and found, and sitting in a little place with coffee and a small breakfast.
I want to sit down facing the scene of a small town where people smile and say simple things like “hello,” or “good morning,” for no other reason than to be kind.
I want to be at a place where common decency is still common.

I want to be elsewhere, of course, and find myself like a familiar stranger. And this could be anywhere.
But no.
I would rather go back to my dreams of good old New Mexico . . .
You . . .

I am somewhere now, too far gone from a loaded package, which is where I used to be. I am far from this and further from yesterday, but I do recall.
I remember.
I used to know all too well about tiny envelopes that were packaged with printed names and filled with a beautiful high. I remember how life seemed to fade like the old graffitied trains that disappeared down the subway tunnels in the mid to late memories from my youth in the 80’s.

The City was my playground but the monkey bars and the jungle gyms were not the same.
Neither were the slides and the see-saws or the rides we took.
42nd Street was way different from how it is now
But –