When your earliest memory is of holding up a sparkler, high up to the darkest sky, some Fourth of July spectacular, and you shook it with an urgency you’ll neverever be able to repeat, and at times you could be accused of being painfully nostalgic, but as of late you’re looking forward to the future though you’ve never been much of a planner, and then you realize this isn’t a memory but the lyrics to a song written by Vic Chesnutt, who OD’ed on prescription drugs after trying to kill himself at least three or four times in the previous twenty-six years, and sung by Kristen Hersh, whose memoir about recording Throwing Muses’ first songs after being diagnosed with bipolar disorder sits on your bookshelf waiting to be read.

AuthorJohn Proctor