We Were At Another Funeral Party. I

My Parents Say That Even As A Very, Very Little Kid, The Way That I Acted Was Dramatically Different From Other Little Kids.

Madness Strips You Of Memory And Leaves You Scrabbling Around On The Floor Of Your Brain For The Snatches And Snippets Of What Happened, What Was Said, And When.

We Were At Another Funeral Party. I Wasn’t Sure Who Had Died This Time, But It Was A Suicide, And Upsetting Because It Was Completely Out Of Season. No On Killed Themselves In Summertime. It Was Rude.

I Get Absolutely Shitfaced. I Am Shitfaced And Hyper And Ten Years Old. I Am Having The Time Of My Life.

For A Long Time I Believed The Opposite Of Passion Was Death. I Was Wrong. Passion And Death Are Implicit, One In The Other. Past The Border Of A Fiery Life Lies The Netherworld. I Can Trace This Road, Which Took Me Through Places So Hot The Very Air Burned The Lungs. I Did Not Turn Back. I Pressed On, And Eventually Passed Over The Border, Beyond Which Lies A Place That Is Wordless And Cold, So Cold That It, Like Mercury, Burns A Freezing Blue Flame.