start/stark page 2

not so many years ago, while I was at the Bumbershoot Art festival that Seattle hosts (and boasts) every labour day weekend, while I was waiting in a long line to take in and experience the honest stylings of the "performance artist",writer,actor,monologist, and one clever & amusing
talktalktalker. Tho' Seattle always offered up quite a few music opportunities for me,this guy from the cultural wasteland of southwest florida to cum to, along w/cool short films,some writers & artists every year, Spaulding Gray was this years highlight.
from the long line, I could spot him walking slowly & awkwardly with a cane (he had been in a horrible auto accident in Ireland recently) eyeing the crowd.
He approached me and stopped. introduced himself (while other faces all around strained to listen in) I tried to express my delight in meeting him/ I had come a long way just to watch him from the audience. He asked me politely to consider joining him on the stage with a few others to be amusing and honest enough that we might Be the show.
I laughed nervously, thanked him (all the time thinking about the horrors of public speaking nerves all through grade school) looked him in the eye and told him it wouldn't be a good idea for me. He continued to try to sell me on the idea, said that he was pretty adept at picking interesting co-conversationalists, that he kinda went with his" secret feelings" and that he felt good about me, and asked me to change my mind.
I smiled nervously, thanked him (all the time thinking, i can't see it happening, I'm Way short on the alcohol..and everybody seems to be watching us) he looked disappointed when we shook hands and I sincerely wished him luck. After he limped on his way,on with his psychic quest for spontaneity partners, the strangers around begged "whaddid he say,whhaddid he say?"
months later, he killed himself in the cold waters of new york city.
Around the same time, a precious talented artist I loved listening to, his complicated exquisite melodies coupled with dire lyrics were just what i needed, Elliott Smith, a northwest singer songwriter, also was dead, of mysterious and horrible circumstances.
the same month I was diagnosed with (the true C word) cancer.

I am almost five years "all clear". the doctors never utilize the word "cured" I think, when it comes to the C word but after 5 years they leave you alone.
alone to miss those that matter, and did not survive.doomed to it