Something weird is going on in life and I can’t explain it.
For the third time in my prison sentence on this God-forsaken rock, I’m willing to put my neck on the line for someone.
The first time was in my late twenties and the second time was throughout my thirties. Were it not for me, the poor guy would have been shot by Los Angeles Sheriff’s Deputies, because I had to explain that he had autism and that I was the only one in danger
I usually forget that things take time, because I have no sense of the concept-and I never did. One hour, one day, one week? It’s all the same to me.
I remember when I was in line at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles in August of 1987, while we all waited for the doors to open to go inside for the KISS “Crazy, Crazy Nights” videoshoot, and one of the weirdest moments was when I asked this guy for the time.
I could have sworn it was an hour later when I asked him again.
“Hey, what time is it, dude?”
He looked at his watch and replied, “3:15!”
“Are you serious?! It feels like an hour later!”
The only way I can really tell time is when I put my finger on the ground-and no, I’m not kidding. I look at my watch too often and calendars are a pain because I usually don’t know what day it is.
This is all related to my brain damage.
I’m not even sure what the date is today, honestly.
People say that timing is everything, but I was always a quarter of a beat early when I played because time is something I don’t take into account. Time simply does not exist for me, and it never did-even as far back as elementary school. Just as I could never keep my columns straight in arithmetic, I couldn’t keep my days on track either. The only day I knew for sure was Monday.
Yeah, this may seem a bit vague, but there’s a reason for it. Just humor me and help me try to keep count, okay? It’s just something I had to get out of my skin. That’s okay, because the subject of which I have intentionally left vague I find worth the wait-believe me, I have thought this over.