Sunday, August 15, 2010

Lone Gone Lonesome Blues

When a novelist (sober for nearly 20 years) and her husband went looking for the West Virginia gas station where Hank Williams was found dead in the backseat of his car in 1953, they collected some souvenirs but left with an empty feeling:
To me, there is no romance in such a death; and not much in the life that leads to it. I get to say this because I, too, once flirted seriously with self-destruction and know that when you’re an addict, the rest of your life is a shadow no matter how many songs you write or places­ you go or people you please. Or how many good times you have, for that matter. There’s no bargaining with alcohol and drugs once you have to have them. You either stop drinking and using or you die.

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