Days of 1994

April 27th

Sometimes, when the sunshine hits my face at the right angle and at the right place, and at the right time, my mind jumps back to long-forgotten memories. Like today, when a walk around the reservoir changed into a reminiscence of my time in 1994. Those memories condescend to only a few months in Spring and Summer. And surprisingly, those memories of that particular time are well-defined and sharp.

Days were light then. Even the days of July and August, which in New York City are heavy and oppressive with heat, humidity, and sweat were just floating by effortlessly. I mean — there was no effort of any kind from me about anything, and days and things were just happening. I guess that was because I had no obligations outside of trying to make it through the day and the night through the desolation of my life then.

I remember well three friends from that time, two of them are dead, one incarcerated, and I — a recovering addict who now likes stability and predictability and comfort and nice gadgets and nice living. Ok, I know people change, and over the 28 years since 1994, I had changed several times in my personality, looks, and behavior — each time drastically. No half measures for me.

And then as well — there were no half measures for me as well. I didn’t care for the next day as long as I had fun today. And if not fun, then just something to do. Even if that something was walking up and down the streets in the Village or sitting in the grass in a Battery Park with a book I just bought from the Strand Books for one buck. But having fun was the primary goal and come evening I started living.

Concerts, clubs, music, plays, galleries, bands, sports, games, cheap restaurants, and even cheaper hotels, women, quick deals, the arrogance of youth, easy money that was burning a hole in my pocket, even furtive relationships and friendships sealed in blood, with the drama of deceit and jealousy and loneliness. All that at once every day.

I am glad that a part of my personality was forged during those days, but I am also clear on the fact that the foundations of my addiction were reinforced during that time as well. Oh, well — now with newly found and developed an awareness of myself, I can look at that time without (much) pain. But there are some parts of my life that I purposely avoid thinking of even as a single fleeting memory. I tell myself that I am not emotionally strong enough yet, but that is a bullcrap. I am just afraid of what I know I will find there.




“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.

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footsteps of the Furies

footsteps of the Furies

“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.

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