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Dancing with Myself
Dancing with Myself
PROLOGUE
THEY SAY IF YOU HEAR THE BANG, YOU’RE STILL ALIVE
By the morning of February 6, , I’d been living on a fine edge for more than a decade, always courting disaster to experience the biggest high.
I’d been living the deranged life. I felt so nihilistic, yet why hadn’t I just tuned in and dropped out? Instead, I followed Jim Morrison’s credo, the credo of Coleridge and, at one point, Wordsworth, the credo of self-discovery through self-destruction I so willfully subscribed to until this moment:
Live every day as if it’s your last, and one day you’re sure to be right.
On this fateful morning, I’m standing wide-awake at dawn in the living room of my house in Hollywood Hills, overlooking the Los Angeles basin that falls and stretches away toward the high-rising pillars of downtown.
I haven’t slept, still buzzing from the night’s booze and illicit substances lingering in my bloodstream, staring at the view of th