My own obsessions. I finished the Murakami book about running and writing. I then jumped into Sam Shepard's last book, "The Spy in the First Person" (2017).
Sam was dying of ALS, Patti Smith helped him edit the manuscript. I resisted reading this book for so long. My companion had read it when it was first published, and she told me I had to read it, that I would love it, but I just couldn't face it.
You see I wrote plays because Sam wrote plays. I have been obessed with Sam and his fabulous work since an early age. He is/was one of the most influential folks in my orbit. Who else resides in this orbit? A few folks: Dylan, Lennon, Vonnegut, Neil Young, Gary Snyder, Melville, Miles Davis, Kubrick, Patti Smith too.
So yeah, finally read the book. I finished it in two sittings. I savored the text, it flowed like a fever-dream. It's a slim volume. Beautifully written. So sad. Also inspiring. Sam, a writer to the end. Some of his obessions were also some of my obessions too: Poetry, R&R, Horse Racing, Nixon, Muhammad Ali.
Sam writing about horse racing, being at the track, it made me flash on one of my own buried memories.
The first time I went to the Santa Anita racetrack. Surprisingly, I think of it now as one of my happiest moments. Brilliant sunshine, warm, dazzling, welcoming day. Expansive parking lot filled with fancy, shiny cars, a beautifully laid-out racetrack, the dark-purple San Gabriel mountains off in the distance, gorgeous horses prancing in line, the Daily Racing Form like a mysterious, holy text. Why was I so excited and happy? Potential & optimism. Unbridled. Anything possible in the moment. I was fairly young, lived in the Midwest, had a job that I pretty much hated, jetted out to visit a client, the money flowed easily to me, and the money was incredibly good, I had lots of money burning a hole in my pocket. I really never did learn the value of a dollar. I had not a care in the world. Did I win, did I lose? I don't even remember. There was a vast sea of possibilities looming out in front of me, and that was everything. It was all so exotic, cool, glamorous.
Funny. A world and a time away. All now gone, really, just a mirage now. So different from my present reality. So yeah, Sam's book is a vivid, shimmering, poetic narrative. I did love reading it. It also made me terribly, deeply sad too. Life. Death. You know.
