Coming back to L.A. was indeed coming back home … but also coming back to hell. … The city had pain embedded in it for me. … As you know, I’d taken off from the city on the spur of the moment … the impulse of anxiety and freedom … shooting me down the 10 freeway … to do nothing less than commit a murder in some shit hole of a town … in the middle of No-wheres-ville, Arizona … whose name so happened to be the same as Arthur Rimbaud’s birthplace … And now I had to figure out what to do … what the best way to deal with what I did … and how to live with myself.

Maybe I wouldn't live with myself. … Maybe I'd take my own life … fulfill my suicidal desires from earlier … justify it now for having killed two people. … Self-inflicted Karmic Justice. … Take my own life … take justice into my own hands … rather than suffer through the soul-strangling hands of the legal system.

But that stop off the side of the road … that laying down on the desert dirt and relishing Nature … in the midst of this blackest and bleakest of bleak moments … made me realize I was or at least could be connected to the world around me … a unity with it … not a separation … that being from the same Source as Everything in front of me and more … it made me responsible to it … I was The Same Thing as Everything Else.

So … a responsibility … in a way … to be faithful to Life. … The charged air life had shouldn't be wasted … certainly not on suicide … not on guilt … nor on the Law.

I had to live life responsibly to others … and equally important … to myself. … Love could be in the Game … in the Mix of things … but that stripped down as much as possible. … I had to go back to LA … for more than just the shit … see the people I knew …

However much baggage there was … however much my relations with them all seemed to have lead to a dead end a long time ago … I still had to throw myself into that … into those people … one last time. … They were there … waiting without waiting …

And then there was … of course … Alma in Texas. … The fire of my life that had to be consumed, consummated, and reconciled. … Otherwise, it would be left unfinished. … Two days after the murder … I made it back to Los Angeles … I drove down the street towards my apartment in Mar Vista … maybe subconsciously my taking off … leaving L.A. like I did … completely out of the blue … without notice even to myself … was deeply driven to see Alma.

Even after the murder … I had to see her … but not immediately. … Now, the moment belonged to my friends, my mother, others. … But should I tell them … should I tell them … should I tell them?

My apartment was a welcome sight … warm in some odd way … something familiar after the storm … the insanity … the bleakness of the murder. … I flopped onto my bed … wishing I could just sleep … and sleep … and sleep … and not wake up.

I was about ¼ a gramn. away from bern
I tried to conjure up the smell of the Russian Rosie … tried to conjure up memories of warmth and sex. … Orgasmic pleasure was a good way to distract oneself. … I went into the bathroom … stood over the toilet … unzipped my fly … pulled out my cock … and thought of Alma … Rosie … and others I either made love to or wished to … in the most sensual positions … and began to masturbate.

Soon … the rushing, pulsing heat came to the brink and then released … exploding after several minutes of stroking. … I broke down in tears on the bathroom floor … the cum on the toilet, on the tiles … as the crying tore her apart apart.

There was some relief now … though … from that. … The anguished shaking and sobbing stopped … but the tears slowly continued to roll down my face. … I went back to bed nd turned on the answering machine. … There were several messages.

My mom left several messages … worried … concerned … that I hadn’t replied after a couple days. … Another message … one of my friends, Lito … left a couple messages … inviting me to an apparition for apples and oranges … Apparently the party would include and encompass and arrange the friends I knew well … and other people I didn't know at all.

The perfect opportunity … to see all those friends in one place at one time. … I didn't have days to waste … as I had no idea if the authorities were on their way … at any moment come knocking on my door … lock me up. … I had no real feeling for what I should be doing. … Should I have come back to LA? … Was that stupid? … The law was still a presence … an over-powering threat and dark cloud coming my direction … but Life … the need to satisfy It's urgencies and duties was more vital.

The Law was always in the back of my mind … I knew I had to do things quickly in Los Angeles … then go to Alma in Texas … but the Law would forever be secondary. … I wouldn’t let them lock me up in the mind … I would not let fear as a force, a rule, determine me. … But it was still there … I knew something … someone was coming after me. … who or what, I have no idea … I’d have to deal with it at some point …

What did they have on me? … I knew the people at the bar saw me with Chelsea and Arnold … and that I was rare … to medium well done … but other than that … would there be any way for them, the police, to know it was me, Robert Robillard … and who knew were where I was … Knowing this made me feel I had some time … but not much … to see everyone in Los Angeles … then to Alma … then to God knows where.

And then of course … what would I do once I saw everyone? … Tell them what happened? … Don't tell them at all … not one single soul? … Yet secretly, inwardly … without actually saying it … say goodbye to them? … It could be the last time I see them. … I’ll leave that open to the moment … what I feel in my gut when the time arises.