SNAPSHOTS

....I'm three or four years old. I've just made the best drawing of my life and I'm beyond happy. I've also just broken open my skull on the corner of the dinning room table, but I feel no pain I'm so happy.

I'm covered in blood.

...I'm seven or so, riding in the back of the family car. My father is driving. It's deep dusk on a cold wet winter day and I'm full of fear and sorrow. the approaching dark looks poisonous. I can't look.

...High Easter mass. Masses of lilies and white candles and incense. I'm enraptured. The world slowly goes white and my head is filled with light. The next thing I remember is waking up in the parking lot in the backseat of our car. Everybody is angry with me. I don't understand.

... Late autumn. I'm sixteen. I'm standing in the doorway of a stable. My best friend has just told me everything will be ok. I hope she's right. I feel to much for words.

...I'm nineteen. My fiance has returned her engagement ring several days ago. I'm laying on my bed, holding the ring and smoking. I've just started.......it helps. I'm thinking of crucifixion and nailing black dogs to trees to externalize the pain, to make it visible. I hate myself for even thinking things like that.

...I'm twenty one and sitting in an apartment with two junkies listening to the stones. I wonder why I'm here. But, it's as good a place as any.

...I'm twenty eight. It's almost four in the morning and I'm walking home in a drizzle of rain. Not a car in sight. My friends and I got separated. I'm very drunk and coked out of my skull.

I feel like a shadow of a person.

...I'm thirty two and I'm at a comic book convention. For the last two days I've sketched my fingers to the bone. I'm sick inside because of the endless parade of young men with portfolios almost begging me to give them the magic formula to break into big time comics. I hurt for them.

...I'm forty three, and I'm in tears because my beloved Bandit has just been put to sleep. My wife tells me to just get a grip. The pain and loss drive my insides into black jelly.

....I'm forty five and helping my wife pack her cloths in the back of her car. I don't know why, and I don't feel anything at all.....I'm just numb.

....I'm fifty three and living in the Midwest. It's November and I'm only ten or so pages into a graphic novel........I'm amazed at how content I am.

...I'm fifty seven and sitting at a computer typing nonsense. It's dinner time. Karen is in the other room straighting out stuff.

What a life.

M.Z.