We met in '68 at Spring School in Boulder, Colorado, an alternative high school for dropouts. After a stint in New York City doing heroin, she was on methadone. Introducing me to Jimi she said: "He plays Delta Blues, but the Delta is on another planet."
Below is the song she was referencing.
She wanted a child, but I was barely 17 and she a venerable 19; too young I thought, for us to begin a family. I later learned she'd gone ahead, but when her parents forced her to give him up for adoption, she shot herself.
A lifelong navel-gazer, I've eagerly anticipated this period, Erickson's Stage Eight, when I could feel fully justified. (Of course, as you've prolly figured out, I've never needed justification.) But here's the synopsis und rationale....
Erikson viewedlife review or reminiscence as vital to the task of stage eight, the stage associated with old age. Life review can help older individuals acquire ego integrity and avoid despair. A life review, according to Erikson, can help create an acceptance of one's one and only life cycle with few or no regrets.
The flowers by your bed are wilting. The sun is setting in the west. A fog is covering your eyes, Your stockings are attracting flies, Decay is nibbling at the boards on which you rest.
There's someone waiting at your window, Familiar face without a name. One night he'll creep in like the mist, To touch your forehead with a kiss, And lead you back into the void from whence you came.
We've all begun to die, and don't know what to do. Since it hurts to pray to God, when God is dying too. Takes strength to laugh, when you start to drown. And we dance while the sky crashes down.
Like that the earth begins to quiver, And all the oceans turn to black. A ship of maniacs with knives, Are playing Blackjack with their lives, To kill the time until the giant rats attack.
It's raining leprosy and acid. The saints were taken out and shot. When someone proffers you a pear, You sink your teeth in unaware, That just beneath the skin lies pestilence and rot.
All that now breathes, and all that you love, All that we weave, will find its way back to the dust.
A band of skeletons is playing, Don't act like you don't know the tune. Your part is echoed in the path, Of every dead leaf blowing past, Against a counterpoint reflected off the moon.
There is a banquet at the table, Exotic cheeses wines and cakes. And every one of us is damned, Until we start to understand, That living is to gorge ourselves at our own wakes.
When the stakes are high, best to play the clown. And we dance while the sky crashes down.
I meet with Dr. Khoo on Tuesday sometime. The receptionist said she was scheduling for late August but after I submitted my New-Patient-Packet she apparently decided I needed to be seen right away. We don't have a time specified...just Tuesday.
It seemed like too much effort to load up and drive to the hills for two nights, but all the Friday night blatting (rumor has it a loud muffler gives the boys an erection) and incessant barkings convinced me otherwise.
It was a booger-bear of a road out to the promontory, but that, of course, helps keep the traffic down.
At just over 8,000 feet it was comfortable even at midday while below, in the valley, temperatures came close to 37 degrees Celsius (100 degrees Fahrenheit).