I didn’t know him. I can’t judge him. Nobody can. We don’t know what goes on in someone else’s head. Five years of marriage taught me that. You think you know, but we barely know ourselves. The vast labyrinths of self-deceit. We can’t even trick ourselves unless we want to be tricked.
He changed my life. The way I think, the way I act, the way I write. Writing has always been the most important thing for me and what he gave me was a gift. He didn’t even know my name, and he gave me a gift. I think he would have laughed at that. Said something completely fucking vulgar and shit all over that little bit of sentiment. He seemed to hate sentiment. But then, so much of him was façade.
He was important to me. He was important to us. He represented something… he was a myth in our modern times. Created himself whole cloth. Pulled Raoul Duke right out of his nose and smeared him all over America’s windshield. “Here’s The Truth, fuckers!”
He’s part of my personal pantheon. He’s been my Trickster God for so long. He brought me fire. The kind of fire that melts your skull and makes your eyes bleed.
I’ve got jackhammers in my stomach and my brain is too sober to understand right now. I’m too far into The Gimmick, into The Con to get it.
Every deliberate act is a magical act.
What does it mean?
It means he was done. He did what he had to do and he moved on. Gave the world the finger and said, “Goddammit, you’re wasting my time!”
There are people who knew him better who are more hurt by this than is possible to explain. I can’t believe I’ve gone on this long. I’m being selfish. His son, his wife, his friends. They’re the ones who really feel the pain. They lived with that fire. I was only allowed to touch it for a moment.
And it burned. God, how it burned.
Leave a Reply