Dear Mom,

Jeff said you’ve been looking for me. Calling him, calling the record company, leaving crazy messages. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d come looking for me now. What’s it been? Ten years? Since you ditched me and never once came back looking for me. You just took off without a word. All this time, I never knew where you were, what happened to you. For all I knew, you were dead. Figures you’d decide to come back now. Now that I’ve got a career and money and even fame. You just gotta cash in on that don’t you? What the hell else would you have to talk to me about except to hit me up for money? Well, I don’t owe you anything and I’m not giving you anything. So stay the fuck away from me. Stop calling and don’t even think about coming out here. I don’t have anything to say to you and I definitely don’t want to see you. You never gave a fuck about me, so why the hell should I give a fuck about you?

Kenny

What are ten things that no one knows about you, and that you will not willingly tell anyone about?

1. Sometimes I just wanna quit everything and going back to Boston.
2. Once in awhile, I wish I was still just a drummer for Freak Wharf.
3. I haven’t written a song since I wrote the ones for this album.
4. I miss Andra. Not just her, but my manifestations of her.
5. I get sick of singing the same songs every night. Guess I wouldn’t have to if I could write new shit huh?
6. I can bring my thoughts into physical manifestations. They’re called tulpas. Only one person (that’s still alive) knows about it.
7. This whole sober thing is starting to get real boring. I’m so close to that edge it kinda scares me.
8. I sometimes get so wrapped up in being Killian, I forget who Kenny is.
9. After what went down between us during the blizzard, I can’t stop thinking about Shannon.
10. I actually watch that stupid soap opera she’s on. When I’m not home, I even tivo it.

Look, here's the deal. My name will always be on the naughty list. If there is one, it's on there. Maybe I've kicked the habit after picking it back up for the millionth time. But let's face it, I'll never be a fucking choirboy. That's not who I was when I was just Kenny from Boston with his band, Freak Wharf, and it sure as Hell isn't who Killian is. Whoever the fuck Killian is. The record companies need me to be a bad boy. Rock isn't believable when you're not. Sometimes I think they actually want me to fall back off the wagon and start shooting up again. Even bad press is good press to those assholes. Plus it would probably reinforce my rock star cred. And everyone knows that rehab makes even the second and third tier stars of the world into headlines worthy of the fucking A List.

Just look at Pete Doherty, man. Who the fuck is Pete Doherty anyway? Have you ever listened to his music? No. And why would you? It's pretty shitty. But do you know who he is? Probably. The dude banged Kate Moss, was involved in a coke scandal that was front page news, and has a heroin habit that puts the 90's grunge and rock scene to shame. Even without the supermodel girlfriend, he's still all over the place. And for what? For being a glorified junkie whose music takes the back burner to his habit. Not that it matters for that guy. If it wasn't for Kate Moss and his drug use, no one would even know what the fuck a 'Babyshambles' is.

Even if I could say that I'm clean for good, which, would be nice I guess if it was actually a realistic idea, I'd still be a man with other needs. Groupies, one night stands, supermodels, wannabes, and hey, maybe even a cute little soap opera actress. My philosophy is kind of like Tommy Lee's when it comes to relationships. Fuck 'em if they'll let you. See, that's what he and I have in common right there. I can't do decent relationships. I've had four great loves in my life, and only two of them were actually a women. The other two? Drugs and my music. Not necessarily in that order though.

So, for the drugs, the random and multitude of sex, and a couple of things I didn't mention due to the fact that they're not exactly legal in all fifty of the states, I'd say that puts me permanently on the naughty list. Not that I fucking care or anything. Only people like Faith's little sister make the nice list anyway. The rest of us are actually having a little fun every now and then.

With all this shit going on, the tour, press conferences, interviews and everything else, I’ve been feeling really fucking stressed out. I’ve been feeling like falling back on old habits. It would be so easy to do. Just give in to that feeling. It’s starting to be there, all the time. Calling to me. Reminding me how much easier everything was to deal with when I was just fucked up all the time. Fuck all this responsibility. Fuck all these demands. Everybody wants a piece of me and all I wanna do is get a fix. That familiar itch creeping up my spine, whispering in my ear. Telling me how much better off I’d be if I’d just give in. But I can’t. I’ve made it this far. If I give in now, I’ll lose everything. Before I didn’t have much to lose. Now, I have everything. At least that’s what it seems like from the outside anyway. Complicated enough for you?

A guy finally hits the big time, or at least gets some notice and sells tons of records and plays to sell out crowds in clubs all summer long and suddenly the band that didn’t want shit to do with him back when he was a fucked up mess is knocking his door down. Freak Wharf wants a reunion tour. Of course they do. Now that Killian’s a big fucking hit. They kick me out of the band ‘cause I can’t get my shit together, can’t keep myself sober. But now that I am, now that I’m selling millions of records they want me to help them out. Right. I’m not that nice of a guy. I’m doing this my way now. This is my thing and I’m not gonna let those guys ride my coattails now.

That’s just not my life anymore. Sure, there’s part of me that misses it. Being behind those drums, hair all spiked up, black lipstick, the drugs, the booze, the chicks. That’s when I bought into the whole Killian thing. Now it’s just a name I use because it’s better than Kenny. But I totally lost myself then and now, I really don’t want to get back into that life. Especially when I’m already feeling so close to slipping. If I agreed to that reunion tour, it might just push me over the edge.

For now, I’m not into doing it. I’ll leave that reunion tour thing to the Spice Girls. Freak Wharf was good back then, I loved it. But it’s just not something I wanna go back and do again. Who knows, I might change my mind later.

There’s only one thing I ever really cried over in my life. My ex-girlfriend Andra. Guess you could say she was like the love of my life or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in love with other people, or more like another person, but she was like my big epic love story. Don’t those things always end in tragedy or some shit like that? Yeah, thought so. This one did too.

Andra was my girlfriend in high school. We dated for like two years. Totally inseparable, head over heels and all that. Then one night, we went out to see a movie and said our goodbyes. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. The whole scene of our last moment together.

"You’re not gonna forget me are you?" I shook my head to tell her no. "Good. Because if you did, it would just kill me. I’d just want to disappear forever."

I kissed her goodbye that night and then? She disappeared. Forever. Well, not totally forever I guess. They found her body a few days later. Bite marks on her neck, completely drained of blood. Didn’t really know about vampires and stuff then, so I had no clue that’s what it was that had killed her. I figured it out later of course. But she haunted me for a long time. I was obsessed with her you might say. So much that I’d have all these thoughts of her. They’d turn real. Take shape and be just as real as I was. Found out later it was some kinda thing I could do. A gift or something. That things I’d think about would take form. The professor called them ‘tulpas’. She was supposed to teach me how to control them. How to use my power. She never got to though.

I guess I just kinda learned how to deal with it myself. Keeping those memories alive were my way of not letting Andra go. I finally did though. When I got myself cleaned up and started moving on with my life. Never did learn how to use my power though. And once I let Andra go, the visions and all that stuff just stopped. I’ve got a feeling it’s still there, it’s just never happened again. Not really sure what my trigger is or if I even have one. I kinda hope it never resurfaces. I don’t know if I could deal with it. Or even how.

There probably aren't enough numbers to count how many times I've woken up in the morning, or more like afternoon and not known what the hell happened the night before. That's the life of an alcoholic/drug addict. Pretty much an every day occurrence. I used to get totally loaded on whatever I could get my hands on. Coke, ecstasy, weed, acid. Whatever I could score that night. I'd mix it too. The booze with the drugs. I didn't care. I guess you could say I had some kind of death wish or something. But what nobody got was I was dealing with some heavy fucking shit. My girlfriend, Andra got killed, I was seeing shit I couldn't explain. It was just easier to numb the pain. If I was fucked up, I didn't see the things I couldn't understand. But then I realized being so fucked up all the time was only making things worse. Especially when it came to that whole Andra thing.

Anyway, half of the stuff that went down when I was so messed up I can't even remember. Some things got clearer when I got sober. It's those things that I wish I could forget. It's those things that make me want to use again just to get them out of my head.

When I wrote my album, sitting in that Psych Ward for all those months, the doctor compared all my songs to therapy. Said I’d finally tapped into all that stuff locked away in my brain that I didn’t want to or was always too fucked up to deal with. Then when I finally sat down and started writing, it started pouring out of me. Next thing I knew, I had enough material for a whole album. Doc called it making progress. Dealing with that stuff by writing it like that was as he put it, ‘like therapy in itself’ or some lame medical shit like that.

All I know is it felt good getting it out. Finally dealing with all that shit I’d let hold me down for so long. Andra, Faith, everything and everyone I’d fucked over when I was such a mess. Well, I didn’t really write about everything, if I did, I would’ve had enough shit for like ten CD’s. But I got out the stuff that was most important. That’s what counts right?

Getting all that out was better than any group therapy or one on one session I ever had back at Belmont. I try to keep writing, it’s hard though. Never have time for it now. Always playin’ some gig, doing all that publicity, giving some interview. How it goes though, I guess. Price of fame or whatever. You bare your whole soul and then put it out there, totally exposing yourself and suddenly it’s not even about that whole therapy thing anymore. It’s just about playin' their game and making that money.

Seattle.

This whole summer club tour was my manager’s idea. Jeff thought it would be a good way to get out there, meet some fans, circulate some buzz. Yeah, I got some buzz I’d like to circulate but it definitely wasn’t involving me in a different city every night, playing these hole in the wall clubs. Man, I was seriously stressin’ out from all this. The pressure was starting to get to me and I was wanting a drink bad. Or to use. Whichever I could score first.

But I knew it was a bad idea. Probably top on my list of all time worst ideas in fact. I couldn’t do it, not after all this time. I had my one slip up that night with Faith and surprisingly I didn’t fall off the wagon. Don’t know how I fuckin’ managed to stay clean after that night, but I did. I just have to stay that way.

Now we’re here in Seattle, it’s been raining for the last 3 days. Big surprise there. Doesn’t it rain here all the fucking time? At least that’s what I’ve always heard. I’m just ready to play tonight’s gig and get the fuck outta here. Hell, I don’t even know where we’re heading next. I just know we’re making our way east. Last stop, Boston. We have like a 4 night show there. Big hometown thing. Should be cool. I guess. Right now, I’m just feeling bitter and I gotta snap out of this before I end up back to where I was before all this.

Flipping the collar up on my jacket, I tried my best to shield myself from the rain as I made myself back to my hotel instead of the bar I was standing outside of for the last 20 minutes.

"Yesterday is yesterday. If we try to recapture it, we will only lose tomorrow." - Bill Clinton


They say the past is the past and you should leave it that way. But I spent a lot of years wanting to make up for shit I did in my past. I wanted to take things back, or make things up, anything to try and fix all the damage I’d done. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve got enough years left in me to fix all the shit I fucked up in my life. I did a lot of damage. I was a total piece of shit, I can admit it. But I had a lot going on that people didn’t get. Not that I’m saying that’s any kind of excuse, ‘cause it ain’t, but it’s some sort of reason I guess.

I thought by writing it out I would find some kind of retribution, a way to let go of everything I messed up. Purge myself and get it all out of my system so I could get on with my life. Thing was, I started writing and getting all that shit out, it just brought back a lot of feelings I had buried. Made me want to figure out a way to make it up to the one person that had ever really mattered.

Faith.

But how in the hell are you supposed to try and even begin to apologize or explain it when you don’t even understand it yourself? You don’t. You just chalk it up to being a total fuckhead, blame it on the drugs or the alcohol, write some emo song about it and let it go.

Right. Cause it’s just that fucking easy.

Seeing her again brought back all those yesterdays, the ones deep down I knew I’d never forget. No matter how hazy they were. Somewhere in my mind, I think I thought things could go back. Sure, we were different people, but she brought back so many comfortable memories, I wanted to recapture them. So, I tried to. I tried like hell to. And then I woke up, the sun streaming in my room, Faith was gone and all I was left with was a wicked hangover and one hell of a night to remember. And one hell of an epiphany.

Faith was my yesterday. With her there is no tomorrow.

This whole celebrity thing was starting to lose its appeal. Not that I didn’t dig playing music, even that my CD was doing so good, but man, I needed a fucking break. A vacation even. At least with the Wharf I could fall off the wagon, get sent off to Belmont and chill for a month or so. That’s the difference between hitting the big time and just being a drummer in some small time local band. The word vacation? Doesn’t exist. I guess technically I could count that whole thing with Faith as a vacation from reality though. Fell off the wagon for one night, hooked up with my ex, which let me say, was pretty fucking intense. Definitely more intense than I remember things with Faith. Not that I was complaining, just observing. Next day was back to reality, not that she’d stuck around that long or anything. I was an asshole to her when I did talk to her that next day, but hey, what did you expect? Not like I was gonna be all puppy dog over her. The night was over, it was back to our own lives. That’s how she wanted it, I was just playing the same game. It was better that way, less complicated.

Instead of a vacation, I just grabbed time when I could. Bought myself a motorcycle and usually just went out riding. The PCH was my favorite place to drive, thing went on for miles. Sometimes I’d stop at one of the beaches and just watch the sunset. I know, pretty weird for a guy huh? Once I got off all that shit though, I started noticing things. Taking in the beauty of simple stuff like that. Maybe Faith was right, maybe I did go all Emo or whatever.

I was chilling at the beach, just finished watching the sun go down and I climbed back on my bike and put my helmet back on. Wasn’t sure what I was gonna do tonight, ‘cause even though sometimes I hated the whole constantly playing gigs routine, I didn’t really know what to do with myself when I didn’t have one. Didn’t really have too many friends out here and too much time on my hands made me think about doing things I couldn’t let myself do. Walking my bike back out of the parking spot, I started it and kicked it into gear to head back home. Just as I got into the city, I started to turn onto this side street when this car came out of nowhere, cutting me off. My bike went down, with me on it, sliding sideways and coming to a stop as I hit the side of the car in question. Fuck. Pulling my leg from under my bike, I stood up, jerking my helmet off and looking in a the girl who was driving.

“What the fuck was that? You could’ve killed me!”

((Shannon.....))

So much for my ass not being on Entertainment Tonight. Or the E!Channel. Or CNN. It's fucking everywhere.

In case you missed it. Can't wait for the magazine covers next.

I always wondered what this working the circuit thing was all about. It wasn’t like this when The Wharf would play. Reggie would just call and set it up with the bartender. Or the owner of whatever dive we were gonna be playing in. Whenever we did manage to score a gig in a bigger arena, it was usually someone offering it. One of those friend of a friend deals. Don’t get me wrong, playing with Freak Wharf had been awesome, amazing even, but once I got this whole gig I realized how unprofessional everything was then. Man, if we would’ve had the right set up, we could’ve been so much bigger than we were.

Tonight, I had to go play nice with these industry types and play a gig at this upscale club in LA. The Whisky. Can you fucking believe that shit? Me, playing at The Whisky. Long fucking way from those days with The Wharf. It was unbelievable. I was standing on the same stage as some of my favorite bands. The Doors, Guns ‘n Roses, even Zepplin played here. Oh yeah, welcome to the big time. Who needs drugs with a high like this?

The place was packed, guess all that publicity my record company was giving me was starting to pay off. Seeing all those people out there had me kinda nervous. But I had so much adrenaline racing through me, I didn’t really have time to give into my nerves. This was so different than playing with the band. Then, I was on drums, rocking out in the back. I wasn’t the center of attention. Now though? It was me, center stage with my guitar.

When I took the stage, I launched into the first song, which was the first single. It was this song I’d written about Faith called “Malice in Wonderland”. About that whole thing that went down back in Boston before everything got totally fucked between us. That whole Slayer possession deal that me and the Professor did that ritual to fix. I played on through the rest of the songs on my CD and when I finished my set, I stepped off stage and did my schmoozing. That was the part I hated most. Just wasn’t me, ya know? But, you do what you’ve gotta do I guess. Might’ve been able to stand it if I was fucked up, but I can’t do that. I’m trying hard this time to stay on the right track. So far, so good.

After it all wound down for the night, I turned down the limo ride and decided to walk home instead. Just wanted to clear my head. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I wandered along the streets, just thinking about everything that had gone down lately and how far I’d come from those days in Boston.

“Hey, you’re Killian right?” A female voice interrupted my thoughts and I turned around to come face to face with a guy and a girl. I smiled a little, nodding. “Yeah, that’s me.” It was kinda weird getting recognized like that. “We caught your show at The Whisky. Can we get your autograph?” She held out my CD and I grinned. Yeah, I could definitely get used to this whole thing. “Sure, why not.” I laughed a little, taking it from her hand. Next thing I know, the guy rushes me, slamming me against the wall. I swung out, catching him in the face with a punch, only to get double the amount back to my own face. Then his face shifted and I realized exactly what I was dealing with. Fuck.

((Faith....))

Kenny smiled, thanking the guy in the black pin striped suit as he closed the door to his apartment. Stepping over the suitcases and looking around at the nearly empty space, he smiled to himself before looking down at the CD in his hand. It was all coming together, all his things had been sent to his new apartment in Los Angeles. His new life was about to start and he couldn't be happier. This was all so new for him. Out with the old and in with the new right? It was all about new beginnings. And this time he was determined not to fuck up.

His producer, Jeff had stopped by with a couple of the record execs t let him hear the finished product. He'd listened politely while they were there, smiling and nodding when all he wanted to do was get them out of there so he could hear it. Really hear it. Alone.

Finally they'd left and he crossed the room, sitting down in the chair in front of the small, nearly broken down desk in his even smaller apartment. Lifting his eyes, he looked out the window at the lights of the city. Boston. The city he'd lived in his entire life. He'd always felt comfortable here. It was home. Now he felt too big for this place. He needed more room. Somewhere he could spread his wings and
fly.

Looking down at his hands, he smiled at his own face looking out from the cover of the CD. He still couldn't believe it. Who would've thought something he wrote in the Psych Ward would prove to be so good? He was just getting his feelings out. Finally dealing with things he'd been afraid to face for so long. Things he'd drank and snorted out of his mind for years. Taking the disc from it's housing, he put it in the CD player, gently pushing the tray in. Leaning back in the rickety chair, he closed his eyes as the acoustic guitar melody filled the air, followed by his own voice.

His lips tugged up into a smile and he felt proud. This was all his. His very own creation. He thought about the demons he battled and overcame. The ones he would undoubtedly always fight. But everything he'd been through had proved to be the perfect recipe. And no one could take that away.