Working on this serial novel Collected Songs of Sonnelion for Darkfuse and I'm amazed at how many memories come rushing back from childhood. The good, the bad, the very bad. Found some old pictures at my mom's and realized that when I was little I didn't like to wear shirts very often. Haha.

I think all of those things (and stuff I'm not sharing with anybody) is the backbone of my Division mythos. I've seen division in families, friendships, jobs, myself, religion, everything. It's not chaos, its independence, which turns out to be pretty scary when at our roots we're all so selfish.

I remember how I used to have my brother shoot arrows at me so I could catch them when I was twelve-years-old. Pretty stupid, but I was good at it. It was only a thirty-pound compound bow though. Lol. When I was a kid anything was possible. I used to climb to the tops of trees and let go, trusting I could catch a branch near the bottom before I hit the ground. I was a little monkey.

I remember that first crush I had in the third grade, on Marti Lafonde, because she was hip and funny and cool.

I remember cruelty at home. Constantly hearing that I was fucking retarded, that I had no sense, that I dreamed too much and asked too many questions, and I remember starving a lot through childhood–for food, for attention, for love, for guidance.

And I remember some laughter. Some of it harsh, some good-natured.

I remember protecting weaker kids at school because bullies brought out the darkest parts of me. I enjoyed hurting them. I was very much Old Testament in principles. Haha.

I remember how I was barely a teen and my mom hurt herself. I had to drive her to the hospital and her car was a five speed. My brother and me were laughing and crying because it was exciting and scary as shit. My mom didn't think it was so exciting but she definitely thought it scary. But we survived.

I remember growing up at the end of this dead-end road in a little trailer that was much too cold in the harsh Michigan winters but a lot of fun in the summers. I remember the quicksand, the woods, the dark water of the swamp that seemed to stretch for miles behind our humble little home.

I remember riding my bike up to my grandpa's because he always had donuts and he painted and played guitar in this haunting hilly Virginia way.

I remember messing with snapping turtles and going hunting with my dad and getting bored and kicking down dead trees because I thought I was Bruce Lee. My dad got angry because I'd scared all the deer away and he held my head under water in the swamp until I couldn't breathe.

I just made that last part up.

Maybe.

I remember drowning once (my mom said I drowned twice but I must have blocked one of them out) and how helpless it felt. My brother said it scared him to death seeing me there, just thirteen, motionless and blue.

I remember the rock piles in the farmer's fields that we were supposed to stay away from because they had Michigan rattle snakes dens in there. And sometimes my uncles and grandpa would burn them out, which was kind of sad because the snakes didn't ever bother anybody.

I remember moving in with my uncle when I was seventeen, dropping out of school the first day of my senior year. He was only a few years older and got me a job with him as a logger. It was tough and honest work and I enjoyed the hell out of it. And I remember how he started a second job, bouncing at this strip club out in the middle of nowhere, and he'd take me in there with him before I was eighteen. My parents had never let me do much, but the world really opened up then, overloaded my senses with flesh and booze and drugs and the sheer cannibalistic nature of lost souls. Everybody was eating everybody for a few bucks, a quick orgasm, a fantasy they could take home and weave quietly into their normal lives. There was a small motel built onto the strip club, where we'd go with the dancers and some patrons after closing time. There were no rules. I was really just a kid still and it both disgusted and delighted me. I watched so many people use and lie. I felt like an alien there but for the most part it was a good experience and made me a very focused observer and an alcoholic.

I remember skipping school a lot and meeting a strange man in the woods who had a machete.

I remember being good at sports but never really caring to be part of any team.

I remember having to learn a lot of things the hard way. Fumbling that first kiss, mostly.

I remember being curious about everything and knowing I'd never have all the answers, and that frustrated me to no end.

I remember wanting to protect my little sister and my mom.

I remember a lot that feeds the fiction, planting kernels of truth in every other sentence, the misguided adventures and pain they brought, the glorious moments of honesty and warmth.

I remember my youth and sometimes I feel my age and weep for all the innocence and magic that have died.