Los Angeles Nights

Dear Kurt,

I've never felt more alone than when I was living in Atlanta. I once wrote this poem entitled, "Atlanta Nights." Where, if your note actually was a suicide note, this poem would have put it to shame. It was full of anguish -- like I was.

Moving to Atlanta was one of many cities in my life that were a fortunate accident. I suppose the term "moving" doesn't even fit. I actually evacuated to Atlanta and was displaced there for several months following the storm known as Hurricane Katrina that nearly wiped away the most unique city in the country, New Orleans.

I had been living in New Orleans for only ten months when two of the biggest hurricane seasons of all time decided to grace the town. My move to New Orleans was no accident. It has always been my favorite city to visit, my favorite city to read about... my favorite city to write about. Yes, my move there was thoroughly planned, and the only place that could win me over, for the short period of time that it did, and take my mind from L.A.

We drove through the night, non-stop in our U-Haul, taking us eighteen hours to clear the state of Texas alone. I thought I would find the happiness there being surrounded by the Southern charm and cobblestone streets... hoping these features and more would distract me from my love.... from my heart. It didn't for long.

And the festivities of Mardi Gras soon faded along with my smile.

I tried this technique with San Francisco as well. A streetcar named Desire was not all it seemed. And I moved on to the next address, the next empty street.

The first time I flew into Boston I thought I was finally home. I made more personal connections there than any state and city I've graced, but never the less, I still felt out of place. And I decided to trade six months of winter for nine months of summer and hit the Miami beaches with all the enthusiasm of a retiree.

One DUI, two thousand stolen dollars and one stolen bike later... and the clouds came in once again.

I seemed to have lived in most major cities in this country already, so I figured, why not give the largest one a shot, and I headed up to New York City. I had a cousin there which made it seem as though I weren't completely on my own so it felt familiar enough. But still.... I was wandering around. Lost.

The truth remains, like your death.... no matter which way you cut it, someone else is responsible.

And no matter which way I cut it... L.A. is the only place I've ever lived where I've felt.... found.

My flight departs at eight thirty am.

Peace, Love, Empathy.

Justice Seeker.