Made my illness look pretty pathetic.
It’s not about illness.
I make no apology- I was pretty sick…& whether was a chest infection or a brain tumour doesn’t much matter.
The world is full of sick people, and I am just another.
The point of this is…
OK…
When you get a wake up call and you start to think…
‘I’m sick. I might die’.
And you look at all the shit around you…
Your life…
And you ask…
Did I do what I wanted to?
Did I do what I was put here for?
Will there be any regrets?
Has to happen.
Plus…
Don’t think that hasn’t given me
pause too.
So…sure, you think about it.
No special deals there…no discount or
sympathy…we live we die…
That’s the deal.
It matters not a damn why it happened-
there is no reason or rhyme.
What DOES matter…
Is how did I live?
THAT is the point.
Sick…
Thoughts of mortality…
How did I live.
Thinking about R..
I started to think about my life.
What did I really want from
life??
And did I succeed in getting it?
OK…good question.
What did I want?
To be happy?
I don’t know.
Frankly…I seem to get more pleasure
from unhappiness than happiness. A doctor once said to me he wondered
if I was not making myself unhappy. Woody Allen called it ‘Anhedonia’-
it was the working title for ‘Annie Hall’- the inability to be
happy.
Maybe.
Maybe.
But…why was I unhappy?
And why did I not let myself be happy?
Was it just my abusive childhood?
Miserable upbringing?
Sure, I never felt worthy…like any
abused child.
So what.
Half the population is an abused child,
and the world is a vampire.
So what.
Others find another way.
Why did I…
not?
I remember- I always felt restless…
Dissatisfied…
Like I was searching for something.
Striving.
I have been called a seeker.
Seeker of what?
Let me go back in time.
As a child.
So often…you get the best clue about
who you are and what you want as a child.
OK…
I wanted something.
I NEVER wanted to be a soldier, or a
doctor, a fireman, or anything like that.
I really don’t remember wanting ANY
kind of job.
I never wanted a job.
I was fucked for this life from the
start…not wanting a JOB.
So what did I want?
What did fascinate me?
You know…it was only the other night,
one of my friends brought up the joys of kissey chasey in the
schoolyard. And it hit me right between the eyes.
I NEVER wanted to be an astronaut.
I NEVER wanted to help the sick and
poor and needy.
(sorry…but if you hear me say I
did…it’s bogus.)
It’s really not in there. & I
have looked.
I have tried to convince myself for
YEARS I wanted to help others…
But you know what?
I ONLY EVER WANTED TO HELP MYSELF.
To what?
Money?
Fame?
Fortune?
Power?
Nope.
LOVE.
Love? What is love?
Kissey chasey.
That was all I ever wanted to do.
Play kissey chasey.
So I chased.
And I kissed.
I chased the kiss, and I kissed the
chase.
May I burn in hell for my sins…
But I loved girls.
I loved them so damn much.
And I wanted to spend my life playing
kissey chasey.
This is the first time I have ever
admitted that.
Illness takes you the long painful way
down…
Forces you to sit yr ass right down…
AND LOOK AT WHO YOU REALLY ARE.
When yr really sick…and you start
thinking about getting yr will in order…
You take a look at yourself.
You are looking at a man who wanted
NOTHING MORE than to play kissey chasey.
And goddamn it…
You would be amazed at how much of that
I actually did.
For all my faults…judge me as you
will…
I devoted an enormous amount of time
and devotion to my prime operating directive.
The sickness this week?
All that crap about railing against the
government for 9/11..
All the toxic shit in the world…?
You talk about a cover-up.
I was bitching about what I thought I
should be bitching about.
What was I doing 9/11?
When it was happening?
I was talking to a woman.
I was on the phone to a woman.
I can deny it up and down…
But when I really look at myself…
ALL I EVER WANTED WAS LOVE.
Listen…there were diversions.
Sure…I had to eat.
I didn’t want a job.
NEVER wanted a job.
Listen to me…I took jobs to eat.
Not because I wanted them.
I became a cop.
I will look you in the eye & tell
you it was to help my fellow man.
For justice.
Bullshit.
I was no fool.
I NEVER in my wildest dreams EVER
believed there was such a thing as justice.
Man…I was beaten by my father and
fucked by priests.
You think I ever believed in justice?
NO FUCKING WAY.
I BELIEVED IN WOMEN, KISSEY CHASEY, AND
LOVE.
You want to know the best thing about
being in uniform?
THE WOMEN.
Sure…there were diversions.
Over time…
Being a cop got to me.
It was not my job.
And you can’t chase women ALL the
time…
At some point you have to do some work.
Eventually…all the other crap got in
the way.
The rigours of being a cop…
If you are not in it for the right
reasons…
It’ll fuck you up.
So I got out.
When I left…
9/11 happened.
I was thinking about women.
The girl I was on the phone to? Did I
love her?
Nope.
I did not know what love was.
Fine line between love and hate, and
being brought up in an abusive household…
It will get confusing later on in life.
BUT I TRIED.
Love, man.
Did I ever find it?
Nope.
Hell…most people don’t find it.
All my MOTHER ever wanted was to be a
wife and mother, live and die with dad in a small town. He had other
ideas, and took her on a detour into hell.
We don’t always get what we want.
I never got love.
BUT GODDAMN IT I TRIED.
Wow.
It’s kind of scary to actually admit
this.
It’s almost unbelievable.
I mean…can you see why it would be
hard to admit?
THAT’S NOT A FUCKING JOB!
Looking for love?
Healthy people look for love on the
side.
MY PRIME DIRECTIVE…
THE ONLY THING I EVER WANTED TO DO…
WAS LOVE!!!!
Truth.
I can’t think of a better, more
comprehensive, decisive way of alienating myself from love FOREVER by
saying what I am saying…
I can’t think of a better way to turn
my friends off me…
Testing you?
Nope.
Myself.
With my truth.
See if I can take it.
Long time coming, this truth.
But as I contemplate my illness, and my
mortality…
Let this be my epitaph.
All I ever wanted was love.
Sounds like an illness.
A mental illness.
‘All I ever wanted was to assassinate
John Lennon’.
That kind of illness.
All you need it love.
All I ever wanted.
Needed.
Man…if I was in love???
If I was living with my love?
THAT WOULD BE MY JOB.
SERVE THAT LOVE.
Even now, I hear that voice.
That’s not a fucking job, you
dick head.
Not saying it is a job- whoever I am
talking to.
Whoever is asking that.
I assume all the authority figures that
ever lived in my head.
Regardless…this is about me…not
them.
Me.
As I look at myself, and ask myself
certain questions…
If I died tonight…
What did I want?
Love.
Did I get Love?
No.
DID I TRY?
YOU ARE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID.
I TRIED AS HARD AS HELL.
Did I actually find love & not
realise it was love- for whatever reason?
Possibly.
Was I loved but not ready for it?
Did I ever throw love away needlessly?
Yes.
Did it mean I was not in love?
Maybe. Not always.
Maybe I was mad.
Maybe my idea of love became too
narrow, too limited.
How would you know?
How do we know for sure?
Did I look so hard for it- I almost
came blind with the obsession?
Did I end up in love with the idea of
love?
In love with the search?
Maybe.
That’s the risk you run.
So what was I put here to do?
I was put here to find love.
You have to eat…so I’m pretty sure
I chose my passion for film to try to record it.
Went into film.
Telling stories.
And over time…I spent my time trying
to get back to who I really way.
My attempts to film things have all
been about MY SEARCH FOR LOVE.
So…
When I look at my life, I ask myself…
Did I do what I was put here for?
Was I true to myself?
I surprise myself how much I actually
did.
I am quite stunned at how much of my
life I SUCCESSFULLY DEVOTED TO MY SEARCH FOR LOVE.
Am I ashamed? Proud??
I don’t know.
Not really.
DID I DO WHAT I WAS MADE FOR?
I think so.
I looked for love.
I tried.
I failed…
But what does THAT have to do with it?
Most people failed.
I did my best.
This will take some time to come to
terms with…
I mean…this might be deluding myself…
But given how hard I am on myself…
How quick I am to dub myself a failure…
To call myself any kind of success is
so rare…
It must be accurate.
ALL I EVER WANTED WAS TO BE IN LOVE.
TO LOVE, AND TO BE LOVED.
TO KISS, TO HAVE, TO HOLD, TO LOVE.
I TRIED.
I FAILED…
BUT I TRIED.
If I died right now?
As much as I might feel I OWE IT TO THE
WORLD TO DIE RACKED WITH GUILT SHAME AND REMOURSE…
I MIGHT ACTUALLY HAVE DONE IT…
My way.
How about you???
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