I cling to my memories of glorious desperation.

If the world gives you the blues, if you wake up in the middle of the night with waves of fear and senseless panic washing over you, I am your friend. If you’re overcome by a desperation that makes your mouth open for a scream that never comes out but just freezes your face in mute despair, then you and I have something in common. If you can’t understand them for the life of you, even though you’ve tried so hard, when that dislocation makes you feel like you’re the only one of your species on the planet, I know I can confide in you. If this endless ghetto of lies and heart break, this life-long run of fences and flickering neon signs, night sweats and suicidal urges makes you feel like stopping, just stopping, like stopping breathing, wait. Wait. You don’t have to tell me your name. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I accept you. If you’re finding life to be the one thing that’s trying to kill you, I want you to stay alive to rise with the sun and fight back.

Nothing stays the same. Experience has a way of turning on you. You see and feel so much and then at a certain point, life starts to repeat. This is the start of wisdom and having “seen it all before.” This is when the true beauty/cruelty of life makes its presence known. This is when you go from being a film you don’t know the ending of, to being the star, director and screenwriter. I think there’s a danger to that. It’s why I try to keep at least some aspects of my life unplanned. You only get so many years before you become too good at what you do, to be all that good at it. It’s what happens when all the lights get turned on.