I was overcome with emotion the other night. Actually it was a Monday night. I had been manic creative and somewhat funny all day. I also ate cheese fries. I lost it. I was in a meeting. One of those special meetings for people whose lives have desintigrated in some fashion fallen into a form of unmanageably that forces intimacy. I sat in a chair with armrests smooth old wood gentle curves but firm, a buoyancy. I was next to a known Mormon a man of ever changing description. I am meandering because I lost my composure the thin membrane of delusion that keeps me from appearing human. I sat in our circle after having laughed at the usual jokes the pattering that keeps us unaware of the dissolution that brings us out of our homes or caves or root cellars to this place. I had no clue as usual I thought I was just being my usual self unmitigated and thoroughly self-centered desperate for some floating rock of self worth in my sea of pained extravagance.

We all sat around men of a certain age, listening to the devolution of a friend. When suddenly I could not contain the effort. It was the idea that the entire story of a man to 45 could be summed as an attempt to conceal to re-imagine a rape of himself as a middle school-er. That the entire focus of my life is to coddle a 14 year old to make him feel better to erase the moment of keening despair.