It’s been years… Tonight I pulled on my sennheisers, sat down at the computer, adjusted the equalizer, and immersed myself in the auditory illusion of the Wall. .. we would meet again some sunny day… And like an open floodgate, the memories of my early years began flooding my mind, passing like clouds behind my eyes. This music is so deeply linked to another place and time in me.. it amazes me to find I can actually feel my old self as I listen in the dark and type.

Even then, I knew that the me inside would travel a road apart from all the people around me. But moreover, I can nearly feel the ice-filled bong hits taken so long ago. .. you cannot understand, this is not how I am… It was as if there was a screaming filling a dark room inside my head back then. Intense, but off in the corner it was. My skin is not my own came from those days and nights. The feeling of an insurmountable void between my parents and I. A slipping grasp of my friendships. Each of us in our own dark room looking out.

I could look down at my fingers and toes and know that I was unique, powerful, skilled, and full of hidden talents that few would appreciate. Girls knew this, somehow they could sense it in me. Though I was quiet, I was like a dangerous animal and drew them like moths to a flame. Bonnie… You guided me. Taught me. Used me to fill your own void. It was like bathing in nectar with you. The smell of you, your hungry body, your sweet skin. Carolyn.. It was wrong and you knew it, but it felt so good. You 17 and me all of 12.. I can still feel you under me. So wet and impatient. Monica.. We both paid dearly for that afternoon. I treasure the memory of those little pools of sweat we made.

This room. This distant room. So full of memories. I wonder if any of you think about those days.

I wonder where you are now Terri. Long dark roads and so many sunrises. We shared the pain we did. We knew and saw each other. Desperately wanting to change course, but set on our paths. I can still feel your hand in mine… My insides pouring out like a dying man. I lost you all. Reina, Kim, Sarah, Susan, Bridget, Karen, Mickey, Kimberly, Denise, Maya… The faces are still there, but our links are gone. I looked. At Christmas I’ve driven around haunting our old paths. There’s no sign that we were ever there.

Under the night sky at Altura, we fell so deeply into this other world. In the dull glow of the eight track, we filled our dark rooms with weed. Sometimes leaving the confines of the Cougar to lay on the grass and look out through the trees up into the stars.

Brown earth passing
Stretched
Vacant I am become along those roads
Escaping to your beds
Laying in the brief security
of innocent breathlessness