Bryan had been sitting cross-legged all night, and he could not feel his feet at all. He couldn�t feel the rough interior of his old dirty socks he wore. It was his turn; this would be the second time he ever tried the stuff. He moved over to the glass coffee table, as the sounds of Jane�s Addiction and the murmur of a dozen or so conversations about reality, the government, aliens, and sex filled the room. He didn�t know many people at the party, but his friend Todd assumed him he would have a great time. Bryan bent over the table and put his right index finger over his right nostril. He snorted three quarters of a line of heroin off the table, and picked his head up quickly, red-faced, sniffing and letting out a subtle �ah�. At first his head felt like it was filling with air, and then it felt as heavy as a bag of sand. Then he felt it, a feeling he had never felt before, a sharp pain traveling up his neck, from his arms into his temples. �Fuck� was the last word that came out of his mouth. A girl across the table from him started giggling. Bryan saw three of her sitting across from him. She started fading away, her and Perry Farrell filling his head with loud white noise. She faded out and the room got narrower, narrower, and black. Bryan remembered his dad taking him to a Dodgers game and his initial reaction when he first walked into the park as his dad held a couple of sodas and hot dogs. Then Bryan stopped breathing and his head smacked down on the glass coffee table, cracking it, and starting a tiny trail of blood on the mirror that made little pink rivers through the dust on it. Todd was upstairs putting his pants back on telling the freshman, �I can definitely give you a ride to the Nine Inch Nails concert�.

�You Shook Me All Night Long�

I walk in and look for you across the room. Who knows if you even remember what I look like? Who knows if you have ever seen me? You ignored me again yesterday. You took advantage of your eyes and looked at me for a half a second today though. You took advantage of me. No phone number. No little note stuck on my car windshield. Another day you don�t know I exist goes by. I go home and look forward to you, and you go home and wonder why nobody talks to you.

�More Than A Feeling�

�Man, she�s like a river� I didn�t understand what the hell that meant at the time. Us teenagers, we don�t know anything about girls and the like. We don�t have experience like them big gross old people. I probably should have taken the hint and realized she would go back to this Brad Pitt guy. I should have figured it out earlier. �She�s the best kisser I know� He was right there, and yeah he was right, she was like a river. She was like some sort of vampire though, sucking out the life out of my heart and all of that good stuff. She fucked him probably after the thirtieth time I fucked her. Then she fucked this guy, and that guy, and this guy and that guy. She�s like a river. I have no clue how any guy could even attempt to go there now. She went in one direction. Some fucked up insecure quest for forgiveness at church, and this twisted vision of morals and the like. Blowjobs on the church grounds ain�t gonna get you cable television in heaven from what I understand. I often wonder now if she still thinks she�s on the guest list at the pearly gates. I wonder if she�s heard of karma. The best I could do right now is to stay away from that river. Far away, making my phone calls, schmoozing with the industry people trying to get good seats in heaven, trying to work out my karma so that it balances out better than hers. Trying to get to the real heaven before she does.

�Won�t Get Fooled Again�

Harry told me it would get easier. Harry told me that it would get better after a few years. Anyway, it hasn�t gotten better. It�s gotten harder. It makes me have to take breaks. It makes me have to sit back and wait for reactions and that kind of thing. It makes me want to push the envelope. Harry told me it�s only har when you�re young because you�re ignorant. Harry says since I�ve been to 22 different states in the United States I should have a better perspective than most people should. Harry says since I�ve been on the cement in front of a car that just smashed me into reality that I should have a better perspective. Harry says that since I went to that tree that night and saw my friend get put in a little red and white van that I should have a better perspective than most people should. Harry said nobody would ever listen to me if I go on screaming and yelling obscenities like I sometimes do. Harry always has good advice. I�m going to have to disagree with him on his newest bit of advice though. Who cares if I get bit back?

�The Rain Song�

There were five of us stuffed into one little Toyota. I was thankfully in the front seat. The only thing I could hear over the music was her goddamned voice. Her comments and opinions that always meant shit to me anyway. Her stupid monologue that always shot through my head like the first time I saw this interview with Jim Morrison and realized I would never be a Doors fan. Blabber about religion and animal rights and whiskey this and that. The car surprisingly didn�t make that big of a noise when we smashed into the fence. She shut right up though. She shut right up as her head smacked into the boy next to hers and they both bled a little. She started screaming bloody murder. I must admit I was a bit shook up. We had drugs in the car. We had underage girls on drugs in the car. We had Black Sabbath on the radio. She got out of the car last. A small amount of blood on her Led Zeppelin �Houses of the Holy� T-shirt. Not enough for her to start the yelling she began though. The driver had misunderstood how sharp this turn was and we slid in the rain into this fence. None of us were hurt except for her and the guy next to her. They wanted to go home. I told them they would go home when we were done with what we were doing. We got the car started after surveying the minor damage. We made our way to the hill and got out of the car. I went and opened the trunk. The driver and I both took the two trash bags out, and emptied the contents onto the ground. Notebooks. Cassette tapes. Envelopes. Photographs. Flowers. Useless memories. I went and emptied the trash barrel over the hill into the bushes, and dragged over to near the car. �Here put it all in here� I explained to the driver. We started throwing everything in the can. Another ritual. We did this every summer. I told the girl there was another shirt in the trunk if she wanted to wear it and throw the Led Zeppelin shirt in the trash can. She took the shirt off. For such an annoying girl she sure had a nice body I thought to myself. Anyway, she put the plain red shirt on, and handed me the bloody Zeppelin shirt. I threw it into the can and then got the lighter fluid out of the car. The can went up pretty quick. This was one of the bigger rituals we had. Another end of summer male ritual. The driver and I had been doing this for three years after hearing about it in a book. Now the annoying bloody girl in the red shirt was part of the voodoo. She had no clue. The driver sort of looked at me mischievously as her shirt burned. �Inhale this fire� I told the group of friends, �Inhale this fire, so it works correctly�

�Enter Sandman�

My only real memory of her now is her tongue. Her only memory of me is my saying �no, bad idea� The last time I saw her I was this close to her. �This close� I said to myself. Leaving her in the bushes behind a hamburger joint would have been a good idea. Her friends would have killed me though. I remember her lovely tongue though. How funny the same tongue that spewed so much garbage was responsible for an enjoyable late night meeting such as that one. I sometimes wish I had wings to fly away from girls like that. Quickly fly away.

�Crazy Train�

This big building we walked into. This abandoned building with smashed out black windows. No bars on the windows. We walked through the litter and glass and found all sorts of artifacts that we collected in a cloth bag she had with her. I took her hand and brought her upstairs. �This is the cool area� It was scary as hell in there. Knowing some of the things that went on in there was pretty creepy indeed. At the top of the stairs we saw a ghost. I didn�t believe in ghosts, still don�t. I told her it was just a real human being, probably a homeless guy. We kept walking and saw another ghost, and yet another. One by one there were ghosts all around us. They apparently didn�t want us in their home. Hell, we kids had no business going in there. It was all my idea to take photos in there. Some sort of gothic photo shoot in an abandoned mental hospital. I told her if she wanted to leave she could leave. The stairs were on the left. She left and went to the car. I sat in this pitch-black room, as she took the flashlight with her. I sat in there until my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room and I could make out writing on the wall and figures walking in front of me. I felt good. Not scared anymore. Nothing could scare me. I lay on the floor and waited for her to come and get me. For once in our relationship, I wanted her to rescue me. At nearly five in the morning I walked out to the car and started it up. She was sleeping under my jacket in the back seat. �Hi� she said to me through her cigarette stained throat. �Good morning then� I said to her. The drive home was pleasant. I played The Rolling Stones �Goat�s Head Soup� on the tape deck and she lightly snored in the back seat having nightmares about ghosts. The morning mist always looks so much better when you�ve seen ghosts the night before.

�Hot For Teacher�

Mary worked at the library. Marty worked for Radio Shack. Mary brought books home. Marty brought batteries and toys that made noise and annoyed Mary home. Mary loved cooking and wanted to be a professional chef at one point in her life. Marty loved building models. Mary and Marty were together for twelve years. Every Sunday morning they would drink coffee and eat breakfast and not say a word to each other. Every evening at a little past seven, they would eat dinner and not say a word to each other. They watched television. They would sit and watch television (well, she would read). On Thursday nights Marty would sometimes roll over and put his arm around her while she slept. Mary had no idea this happened every Thursday night.

�Owner of a Lonely Heart�

This chick in a Yes 90125-tour shirt came at me with a half-empty bottle of Coors Light, and a Marlboro Light.

�Livin� After Midnight�

In the wee small hours of the morning, good things have happened. I�ve talked of the mountains, and how cold it is in Nebraska in the fall night. I�ve kissed best friends and made things happen. I�ve talked to the mirror for three, four hours at a time waiting to see if it would ever stop talking back to me. I�ve driven through the Blue Ridge Mountains and watched the sun come up and fill a valley with the most amazing shade of green one could ever see. I�ve taken things out on people I shouldn�t have in the wee small hours of the morning. I�ve taken too much for myself, just a bit too fast. As far as I�m concerned, the more times you see the sun come up in the morning, the less you appreciate it. Once you get to the certain part of the evening, or morning, you need to step back and look around to see if anyone is watching. See if anyone is listening. Ears to the wall. Ears with two dangling earrings tapping the wall.

�Red Barchetta�

So I guess I was fooled then. I guess I was fooled, but in a fun polite kind of way. You sort of knew what you were doing. Holding this fresh orange carrot in front of my face, only to reveal a yam. Holding a stack of hundred dollar bills in front of my face. Holding your self hostage for me would be the best thing you could do. I think the bus will go by that route. I think we can pick you up when ever you get yourself ready. So before we do get this bus in third gear, what is it exactly that you needed to tell me? Why should I believe you are who you say you are. For all I know, you could be the enemy. Your hair color is incorrect. Your taking a look to see me and I see you every couple of days. With a quick brush of your hand you could probably knock me over I feel so fucking light around you. You could easily take the steering wheel and drive us to Vegas to put all the money down on one game. One game of chance we would play together. Split the money immediately, so as not to cause any future friction. Take out some sort of insurance policy for my life so you don�t shoot me in the temple. Now that I think about it, there is no need for me to date women who are taller than me.

�Slow Ride�

It took him three or four tries, but he finally asked out that girl from accounting. She made him feel like jelly when he caught little glimpses of her. She made him develop a stutter in front of xerox machines. She couldn�t look at him, so he thought she was �probably a bitch�. He finally took her out though. One evening in the fall he took her to dinner, and for a ride in his car. They talked about music and boyfriends and girlfriends. He realized one thing. She was better off a ghost. She was better off as a mystery. Shrouded in manilla folders and paperwork, and paper clips and water coolers. The best thing about his date was that walk of hers. She had this walk about her that was one of the main selling points about her. Some sort of perfect balance of confidence and insecurity wrapped up in some mysterious costume of short skirts and dark eye liner. Walking to his car he realized he was in love with how she walked. She did this cute little strut. That was all he wanted. He didn�t want to kiss her. He didn�t want to see her naked. He didn�t want to know about her experience living in the city with roommates from hell. He didn�t want to take off his clothes in front of her. He wanted to watch her walk.

�That Smell�

As he dipped the blade into the bowl of �magic water� he had one thought: �I have no father, he won�t know I�m dead�

�Highway Star�

I turned out the lights for the fifth time and opened the drapes an inch. That prostitute was still out there on the balcony. I think she saw me. Beautiful black woman. I waited for her to walk by the room again. She walked by looking around at windows. It looked like she looked right at me, she looked right through me though. I heard her cough walking down the balcony and back towards me. Just as she was about to walk by my room, I opened the door and made believe I was going to get something out of my car. We exchanged hellos and she asked me where I was from. I invited her in to smoke a joint. We put the television on, and lay on my bed while Charles Mingus plucked away in the background. She wasn�t a prostitute. She was a dancer from across the street, she was supposed to meet a friend there, and ended up stoned on my bed, not thinking anything about money. I told her I enjoyed her city, and was surprised there weren�t more cowboy hats around. I was pretty stoned when I told her she could stay in the room for as long as she wanted, I was a night owl. She responded with a kiss on my cheek, and left.

�Crazy On You�

I knew this guy with a lightning bolt tattoo on his forearm once. I knew him from seeing him around. He was outside of what we normal folks do day to day. He had a spider tattoo on the other arm. Said they both meant something, but I wasn�t allowed to know a thing. Drove this big blue American car. He once told me he came home and the dog started barking, so he tried to kill his mother.

�I Can�t Drive 55�

Right now things seem to be going pretty well. We are living in this nice big house now. Enough room for everything we own. Things moved so fast, I don�t even know where to begin. I know one thing. We sure do miss everyone back home. Yes, yes, she�s doing well, taking night classes down the street. I am still working for the same company. I still can�t believe that we�re all grown up now. I was wondering the other day though. You know, we�ve all stayed in touch for a good long time. Would it be bad if I didn�t have money to fly out and visit, or show up at a funeral if one of you dies? Is that bad to even bring that up? Yeah, I know. Sorry about that! Anyway, we are expecting in two more months. She looks great though. This far in, but she looks great still. I still think that we could have made waves. You know, I hate bringing this up. I always start the letters to you shooting the shit, talking about the weather and school and that kind of thing. I really need to tell you this though. I know you�re married, I�m married and all that. Our history was a little bit �rocky� I guess. I just always have this little thing in the back of my mind that says �maybe some day�. I know you always get pissed when I bring this subject up though, but hey, it�s just a thought. You know how I said I�d always be honest with you, so let me say what I have to say and I will get out of your hair. I�m not in love with my wife right now. I�m in love with you again. Write back.

�Do You Feel Like We Do?�

Right now the guitar has been a good friend. Hasn�t let me down. Shit, now that I think about it, nobody is letting me down. It�s all in my head. It�s all in my head every time. I needed a break from this arena for a few days. Once you start getting a bit embarrassed by things you write, you should stop. There is no grand conspiracy. There is nobody stabbing me in the back. There is no rampant drug and alcohol abuse in front of my eyes day to day. There really is no reason to think like I think day to day. Paranoia. I take myself too seriously sometimes. I take myself far too seriously to continue spitting venom and holding matches under peoples feet. I actually have a good sense of humor sometimes. What�s red, black, and white and thrashes around? A nun with a spear through her head trying to get through a revolving door.

�Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo�

I think she has green eyes. You know what they say about the ones with green eyes.

�Here I Go Again�

Shit I�m tired. Catch and release. That�s the theme of today. Or actually, �Dear Diary, today was a good day. I never filled with anger, and only dealt with three or four crushes I have at a time�. It was sort of a long weekend. It could be explained and discussed in five paragraphs, or it could just get logged into a mental history book. I could explain everything with black ink on clean white paper, but it�s too easy. This is never easy. Easy things are for pigeons and little boys. The minute any of this starts becoming easy, someone take me away.

before & after