I am not your biggest fan.

The Hillary Step.

I’ve been opening up my head. In a way like surgery and not like freeing your mind. I am rewiring this sonofabitch. It only seems to get me into trouble.
Repatched and rewired, I have taken the plug out of the socket 15 times in 7 days and finally it seems to be purring along like a window cat. I took out the low frequencies and added an oscillator that seems to be the right frequency to keep me from convulsions.
It was good while it lasted, but sooner or later the waves collided and cancelled and I fell off the wagon and under the truck tires of the lorrie driven by the Amish man with black hat and beard and his three boys, two girls and wife in a bonnet.
Sooner or later you decide that you have to live, I suppose – either that or the other option and at that point you can’t write a thing anymore – and upon making that decision there’s a moment of clarity.
This is my announcement that I am not your biggest fan.
I know it sounds strange, but the truth of the matter is that I have been sliding for the past couple of months. If I made it there without you I would feel as odd as toothpaste on a cracker. I guess it really makes no difference the other way around. All the luck in the world to you. My rates just went up. I’ll hear it on the radio when you get there. Watch it at the Hillary step. There’s been many to lose a life there.
A good accountant and a good lawyer are always advisable. As well, make sure the company throws some marketing bucks your way, and a good web designer… I’ve got a list, and in the end some folks will indeed purchase the improved product, I guarantee it.
We could all quit work for a few days on the proceeds. We can talk later about this portion.
I wish that I could write vindictive. My heart is just not in it.
Oh, you’ve changed. I imagine the same could be said of me. Remember, this is not the brain you used to know. The engine is rebuilt as well as the transmission. Everything is in retrograde or so I have heard, but round about today the tides are shifting. Certain gravitational pulls have been alleviated. I’m taking the back way into the alley, to the cab awaiting and then to home. Snails carry homes around everywhere the go, they can sleep in the bar alley with a roof over their head – I suppose that is part of the fascination.
But we might as well make it level from here. Or at least level with one another. I am not your biggest fan. I may have once been but all that has changed. My compass doesn’t even point north anymore. I might just as easily take flight and turn into ice as make a decision that seems sensible in your paradigm.
I do believe in truth and love and home and that when you meet a girl that you love, you should marry her and make a home and never look back. Rock and roll will always be there, and you and me and possibilities, but that does nothing towards baking the bread in the morning, a laugh from my nephew when he falls from his bicycle. We got the beat, he’s got the beat… I even think you’ve got the beat. It’s there. I know.
You’ll let it all come in someday. It will wash over like a river in the 100 year flood. Mark my words. The beat is there and you will be too. Send me a postcard to tell me you are happy once you arrive. Otherwise, I will stay heartbroken.
“Goodbye, Jack.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“See you around.”
Or something like that.