Welcome to Bridgetown

It’s a trick I learned from working on music history chronology: sometimes things just make a bit more sense when you put it all in the correct order. How one thing ties in with another, perhaps influences something else, all while putting it in a clearer context.

Not counting that bit of extracurricular fun I had in fifth grade, my poetry and lyric writing started sometime in the early months of 1988. The IWN had been completed and its sequel started, and I’d also just finished a very silly John Hughes-influenced screenplay (also my first completed one) in the fall of 1987, and to top it off, I’d just bought myself a cheap bass guitar for $25 downtown and was about to teach myself how to play it. [There were two to choose from, and the other one was shaped like an Uzi submachine gun — no, I’m not kidding — so I grabbed the headstockless one instead.]

I kind of fell into writing poetry because I wanted to try something different. I also wanted to start a band and would be doing so at the start of 1988. With that plan in mind, I figured I’d also need to start writing some song lyrics as well. I latched onto my favorite influences at the time: the goth wordplay of The Sisters of Mercy, the oblique artiness of Wire, the doom and gloom of The Cure and the quirky love songs of Depeche Mode.

The first couple of attempts weren’t all that serious, but I wasn’t taking my assignment all that serious to begin with. I wanted to have fun with it! Most of it would be written in notebooks and on scraps of paper, written in my bedroom. By late summer of 1988, however, I came up with an idea: what if I take one of these numerous notebooks I have in my room — say, this Mead composition book that I rarely used for school to begin with — and started writing in it?

But that was still a few weeks away. Right now I had more pressing things on my mind: my best friends from high school — the ones who were all one year ahead of me and had graduated that May — were about to head out of town and off to college. That hit me pretty hard, and not just because they were all going away…I’d always been the ‘last’ in one way or another. The youngest sibling, the youngest in my extended relations of numerous cousins, one of the last kids of my age in the neighborhood. Usually last picked in gym class as well, of course. It was not so much a sense of abandonment as it was a profound sense of being left behind because I wasn’t allowed to catch up. That would haunt me for quite a number of years.

And it would be the impetus of a lot of my poetry, lyrics and fiction writing around that time. I found solace in listening to music and losing myself in my creativity for a few hours. That composition book would be where I’d bleed out whatever was going on in my head. And I’d also given myself one rule: no boundaries here on the page. If I felt safe in writing something heartbreaking, or horrifying, weird or embarrassing or even hilarious, then I wouldn’t hold myself back at all. My first attempts were sketchy and slight at best, but by the winter of 1988 I’d found the voice I’d needed. I just needed to keep going.

Revisiting these poems now, so many years later, I’ve been able to put this all to rest and in its proper order. I can look at these with emotional distance and appreciation. Putting these in their proper order and context, without holding back on any memories or subsequent clarity that might arise, has indeed brought on both in abundance. Answers finally given, clarity finally achieved.