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16                                      Jack Fritscher, Ph.D.
               That was the thing about my glittering hotel. If you were open to
            dancing with the thing, you learned something about the power of the
            visions it would lend your life. Once you have them, they do not fade
            away. They will hurt you good, baby, all the way to the fucking grave.
               Coulter and the snake.
               Scott and the boys.
               Jack Fritscher like a ghost who had made us all.
               That was when I started seeing Jack as a Holy Man. Yes, a Holy Man.
            A man who had studied for the priesthood.
               But here’s the thing.
               A man who had studied for the priesthood and who then transcended
            it.
               I don’t see Jack in leather.
               Beyond ritual, I see Jack in monk’s robes. Jack is like a monk to me.
            Someone who represents the thing at ground level. Someone who doesn’t
            consult scripture, he lives it.
               You will meet only a couple of people like this in your or any lifetime.
            There is a word for what Jack is. That word is spelled a-u-t-h-e-n-t-i-c.
               Jack had set my stage. Drummer was where I started to listen to the
            voices. In me.
               Call it psychotic. Or whatever you want. I’ve been called everything
            else. It doesn’t mean anything. What was meaningful to me beyond the
            glittering dramas that were played out with such staggering force at my
            glittering hotel, if you could transcend the details, you would see another
            world.
               Jack had transcended it. His writing and his person had transcended
            Drummer. He had the ability to hear Other People’s voices (which is why
            he is twenty times the writer I am) and here’s the thing: he could respond
            to them.
               Maybe it was just a hug to Jack. I would not know. I know this: it
            saved me.
               Beyond  Drummer, what Jack gave me was transcendence. It was no
            theory. It left his body with that hug and entered mine. It has pushed me
            along this journey in ways Jack could never know.
               Some dance in my glittering hotel with grace. My memory is a razor
            blade of blood. They are mostly gone now. But they were here and we
            danced and we connected and we gave voice to a history of what does
            amount to change.
               So many people, many of them now haunt me, many of them won-
            drous, walked into that office. For one thing or another. My glittering
            hotel is still crowded with the likes of dancing ghosts. Remembering them
            is so painful, it is almost more than I can do. I loved them.

          ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
               HOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK
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