Went up into the hills tonight to go out to dinner with the landlord lady and her husband. I'm on a bus. I'm going up and down these mountains and all these curves. I'm up maybe an hour out of Florence. Up in these hills. Past the poor tenement buildings with all these poor children playing the streets and these toothless mothers sitting in rocking chairs. Past fields of sunflowers and vineyards. And more poor families in the streets. and we are winding around yet another curve. And it is hot. More than hot. It is scalding. And the whole bus is perspiring. The driver, the passengers. I got out at my destination. It was night time now. it was dark. I was up in the hills, only God knows where. I ran to the cliff with the bright lights of Florence shining down below and I just hurled. I'm talking yards out in front of me. it was like a horror movie. Throwing up like crazy... More than sick. Exhausted. Combination of the heat and the stress from the pressure of the music business. This is most up in the air I have ever felt, I thought, and I hurled again. The most lonely, and I hurled again. I was standing over this cliff just yards from a bus stop crowded with people. But this was way beyond me worrying about who was there or who was watching. I was in my own little private Idaho. Maybe this is the most without a home I have ever felt I thought, and I hurled again. Without a purpose, without the surety that comes from knowing where you're going tomorrow or why. And I hurled again. I could not stop throwing up. There was nothing left. I was just standing there yakking. Like a monster from a movie or something. It was brilliant and pathetic. 

I fell to my knees on the rocks below. I held my stomach. I said a few Hail Mary’s. I always like to say some Hail Mary’s when I'm throwing up. “Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with thee, please help me stop throwing up, blessed art thou among women....” I prayed, ‘Virgin Mary, where am I? I wander. I wonder. I stroll. I take notes. I make plans. I work on my songs. Why? What am I doing up on this mountain meeting these people I do not know for dinner?’ and why am I throwing up? I hurled again. How am I expected to carry on this mission all my life making these songs and these albums and never getting paid for it? what is the purpose of this? what is the plan for me? am I just supposed to starve all my life and live in squalor just so I can carry out this mission? What kind of cruel joke is this life I have been given? I threw up again. Is this purgatory? Am I supposed to suffer all of my life? Where is my wife? I want to have children. I want to meet my wife Mary. Why has God forsaken me?’ who am I and why am I alive? I could not throw up anymore. I passed out on the rocks on this cliff thousands of feet above the sparkling city of Florence from sheer exhaustion. I did not wake up till the next morning. The sun was rising over me. I was alone and lying on the ground. 

“are you going to leave really?”

yes, I told you I was leaving. I am.”

“when?”
” this weekend?”
” this weekend, maybe Monday.”

“did you buy your ticket yet?”

“no. we have been working on it all week. Its expensive.”

“it doesn’t matter. Just buy it. well maker it happen. How much is it?”

“maybe two thousand, maybe fifteen hundred.”

“just do it. what are you waiting for?”

“I don't know. where am I going? part of me doesn’t want to go? once I leave, I know I'm really leaving.”

“yes I know. I feel it. in my stomach. You have to go. it is for the best. don't come back for a really long time.”

“why am I going exactly?”

“to see your homeland. To explore Europe. To get away from all of this.”

“and then what? There is feeling I have inside of me that is very ominous. Like me leaving is like a symbol of me leaving all of this behind forever. Once I sign these papers, then its really over. I mean, then I'm really gone. I don't even have a reason to come back.”
” you have your band.”

“yea. I know. I love my boys. But in Miami. This place isn't for me. its not like with you. I don't have a family here now. I don't have this huge fan base anymore here. we sell ten times as many records in the Midwest or the northeast than we do here. Miami isn't like that anymore. The last American left years ago. this isn't the place for what I do. I stick around cause I have friends. I have you and Bas here. and the Ferret. But I have to get to a place that is more my scene.”

“then just go to New York. You’ve been talking about for years. just leave.”

“I have to leave don't I?”

“yes. I can feel it already. It is what we need to do. just go. Remember Tristan in that movie a walk in the clouds? That's where you are now. You can’t hang onto this anymore. You need to leave. Start fresh. You are an artist. You are some kind of a genius.”

“thanks.”

“you know I am a big fan. If we never would have been lovers and then broken and up and everything, I would be your biggest fan in the world..... do you know that? I love what you do. don't think because I get so hostile and insane that I don't love your music. I love it more than anything. And I want your success more than anything. That is just my way of coping with this. This situation sucks right now. You just come here everyday to this office because it makes you feel good. me too. but its not right. You’re wasting your life. and I cant begin mine completely while you are still around. I need you to get away from me now.”

“Well I won't see you then after today. I will leave tomorrow or Sunday then.”