...neither monster, beast nor creep but I have led a wildly irresponsible life which is driven home to me with every strain of Bach I listen to, each melancholy note driving me deeper into introspection, brooding even, for instead of leaning back and reflecting on the life I've led (lead) with pleasure, it is a reflection tinged by, nay tinged, charred! & accompanied by head-shaking disbelief; how could I have done that! What was I thinking?
And of course, there you have it, I wasn't thinking. Thinking is something I didn't do much of in those days and now it is about all I do.
I often hear people say something to the effect that 'O I'd love to go
back and see So & So again...' Not me, I'd be mortified. And I still wouldn't have an answer.
No, in the reflected light of my past there is no golden glow and my youthful dreams of being the non-catamite Walt Whitman/Jack Kerouac of my day, which ambition gave way to a myriad other desires and took a variety of guises to keep from being ME, crashed in the dust of dissolution.
Elsewhere in these "...NOTES..." my Friend Sam writes '...you possibly may try to shift the NFTD focus in a bit of a direction other than Terry's life...'
Sometimes I would like to do that, Sam, write a sustained narrative and never use the pronoun I, but I don't do it, wouldn't know how, have lived this way too long to suddenly about-face. I'm stuck with me, and according to the trickle down theory, so are you.
Well, we'll have to bear up under the strain and press on, there are still things to do, what exactly I'm not sure, but each day I hit the deck running, ready for come what may.
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