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?”