Life is a boxing match from beginning to end. You’re born in your mother’s pain and your excruciating need to breathe. Then you bump along from crisis to crisis, day after day, month after month, year after year, trying to find some moments of joy in the grind of surviving. This will suffice, if you aren’t afraid and have the confidence to face the facts that surround you, the reality in eyesight. If you do, then you will have the heart to love.
Let me give you an example. Once, when I was about twelve, a few months after my mother died and I was conscious of the transience of personal existence, I was running with my friends over some streetcar tracks and we were all shouting with joy, and I stopped and pointed down the empty street and said, “Look! Enjoy this! We’ll never experience this again!”
Life is in living and capturing the precious, beautiful, ugly, never-to-occur-again moment. This is how I have lived my life. This is why I write and why I create art, why I celebrate, even mythologize my family in my work. Here it is, the raw material with which I crafted my books: the family I loved and love, the writers, famous and otherwise, with whom I’ve shared beers, tokes and poems. The travels, the bouts, the burns and the triumphs. It’s all here. Check it out.My Biography