DEATH IS SO FINAL--Youth La Boheme days in our small boyhood town, drinking cheap wine, smoking grass all night in some artist's studio, staggering forth into the bleary translucent twilight dawn.
I fell in love at 19, she a writer & editor, sophisticated, we stayed up all night discussing Proust & Joyce in between tepid, nervous lovemaking. I thought she was brilliant
She had been hospitalized for schizophrenia. I was too young to understand the savagery of the disease.
My best friend, an artist, thought he was a genius. Turned out to be a commercial hack, but my eyes were glazed by romance & fancy
New year's Eve Party. I made punch that was clobber--too much vodka. We got towering drunk.
My friend returned after I left & screwed her.
Dark frigid January night. Bridge over river, Chunks of ice floating by. I stood considering jumping in--certain death.
To young to understand how inconsequential such things were. Climbed on railing & stared hard, wanting oblivion
Life wrestling with death--seems foolish now.
Bar & pizza parlor at end of bridge--I finally chose the oblivion of drunkenness over the oblivion of death--I came close