June 23, 2020
“What I did had stakes, but reality rarely intruded, and when it did, the consequences were light, so that it would be a miserable, pitiable lie if I used suspense or misdirection in a life marked by static, because I know whatever the stakes were I never went broke and when it ended for me I still got to cash out and walk-away.”
What is the point of memoir? The point of my memoir?
Some lives produce a narrative. I used to say, I hope I hit rock-bottom. I said this because to have hit rock-bottom would have meant letting go, of flow, sensuality, love, addiction, abuse, giving away my body for rape, maybe my death, movement. Nothing. It – rock-bottom – was something. I had nothing, or so it seemed.
