This one is for Kasch. She wants me to write something.
Writing is hard sometimes. I struggle with my own voice. I wish for more discipline, but I hate what discipline does to my voice. It’s a bitter battle, so thanks god I am not relying on this for my income. I do this for myself, I do this for my friends, I do this for a woman in Berlin who I have not yet met by maybe could be someone I know for the rest of my life.
Life is weird that way. All day, actually for a few days, I have been thinking of the connections between people, how they can all of a sudden just happen, just like that. There you are, just like that, you have a friend and a sister, living in a different reality. She sits in a European city, lonely, thinking of someone we both love while it rains outside. The image has entered MY reality. The lines are clear. The connection is strong.
When I was young, I met a rich guy who was in and out of my life for a number of years. I first met him when I was fifteen, then for the next few years, I ran into him here and there, in weird places, like the Orange County airport. He was kind of a weird guy – he had various businesses and was into holistics, but at the same time he was also, basically, a drug trafficker. When we finally hooked up in a more-than-just-running-into-you way, I was twenty, and he was on trial. He went to jail for a while, but when he got out, I saw him from time to time (again) in San Francisco, where we would go out to a fancy dinner, then a bar, then I would castrate him vocally for a while, which he loved. Then I would drive his ginormous expensive car all over the place when I should definitely not have been driving. It was the late eighties. We got away with a lot back then.
Anyway. What I am getting at is this weird connection thing, and it is about to get weirder. I believe in reincarnation, and there was something with this person that transcended normality. When I looked at him in the beginning, later on when our relationship took on this bizarre mother/son/castrator mode, whatever it was, it was deep. Then one day I learned that in a past life I was a German nightclub singer in World War II who was killed by an American bomb at the age of nineteen. Telling this to my millionaire friend, HE tells me he was an German officer in World War II, who was killed by his own government because he was not doing what they wanted. Now, I know this all sounds totally crazy and farfetched, but seriously. I screwed around with that guy before we both died back in 1944 or whatever, and that is why we kept running into each other in this lifetime. We have a thread that ties us together and it will go on and on until we resolve whatever it is we need to resolve (which we, I am quite certain, did not accomplish in this lifetime. More fun is yet to come.)
So, Kasch. There is a thread that ties us together, made of silver silk. Made of memories, from the past and the future, and from right now. THIS is the memory, the moment between jumping off the cliff and hitting the water, the moment between entering the club and the lead singer taking the stage. Or the drummer. Heh.
I see the silver thread that connects us. It is weird, but it is there. Now I want the whole suit.
