Tap The Well
I first tried to write— I mean, tried to write as if I were a sage, someone outside myself —when I heard Jim Morrison’s “End of the Night.” I was twelve years old. This was a catalytic event for me because hearing Jim’s voice and hearing him use words that I had never heard before or in ways and combinations I had never encountered before meant that I too could go into places I didn’t know existed. Dark places. Places my parents and teachers wouldn’t think to go and wouldn’t want me to go. Why was this important to me? I don’t know. Anymore than I know why it was so important to me to start growing my hair long. Part of it, I suppose, was to identify with the hippies, the rebels of our culture. In a way, I imagine I wanted to “get back at” those who had made fun of me or snubbed me. It was my way of saying, “you can’t hurt me, but I can hurt you.” Not physically, necessarily, but scare you. What wound ...