I Will Say Something Lovely

This essay is part of the unpublished Essential preMortem: Fugitive Writings of Todd Brendan Fahey.

To my parents:

For making love when you did, so that I might be.
For providing me a home free of violence.
For tending to me, as a fragile child, in times of fever and delirium.
For sacrificing your earnings, such that I might have braces on my teeth and lenses to aid eyesight weak, and a college education.
Thank you.
And for the support shown to me in my fragile adult days--I know it has been hard for you, to know that your son is an addict, off and on. I know, and I thank you.

To Skip Fox:

Simply, one of the bravest men alive. A poet, a father, a voice of reason (even if we disagree, politically), a warrior, champion of Truth, and deserving of peace and all good things. Thank you, Skip.

To Lisa:

Who kept me alive for 5 1/2 years, and to whom I owe so much. Keep the faith, little one. (~

To Gerard Martin:

An antennae of the race. You will never be forgotten. Not if I can help it. My friend and ally. An artist.

To Glen Daigle:

A vessel of Goodness, my student and wisdom teacher. I will authorize a monument to you, one day. A living saint.

To Walker Speight:

The Good Samaritan. Believe in your goodness...you rascal. %--}

To Chris Hunt:

Who is as neglected as am I, and to whom the electronic world owes its apologies, with interest. My trusty co-pilot.

To Gary Meyerson:

A tall ship, another brave man (& a damned good chess player). Take a breather, Gary, you've earned it.

To Dan Patterson:

A sensitive soul, a beacon, the sharpest film theorist I've ever had the pleasure of jawboning agin'. And who also kept me alive for many months.

To Cathy H.:

I know you know.

To Loy:

Thank you. & may God rest your spirit and soul.

To Sharon Lynne Christensen:

Wherever she may be.

"I'm carrying a torch for you, baby,
I'm carrying a torch."

Van Morrison

To Congressman Ron Paul (R-TX):

Our Jefferson. Too good for us.

To the Honorable John B. Conlan:

A fighter. Who gave me my start. We tried.

To John F. McManus & the John Birch Society:

You are, and have always been, the hope of our nation.

& To my Creator:

"How long, O Lord?...How long?"

Hunter S. Thompson.

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