for seven years,
i dwelt in the loose palace of exile
playing strange games with the girls of the island
now, i have come againto the land of the fair, and the strong, and the wise
brothers and sisters of the pale forest
children of night
who among you will run with the hunt?
now night arives with her purple legion
Retire now to your tents and to your dreams
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth
I want to be ready'
These are the words I found myself humming as I woke up in the morning. After the usual early morning duties, I watched the news flash across the TV:
A new theory as to how Jim died. Now theres this Paris nightclub manager who says that Jim died actually of an herion overdose and not of an alcohol induced heart attack. The strange part is that when he died, there was no autopsy conducted and there was no fanfare involved in his burial. Whats stranger is that, in whatever little information I have read, is that Jim wasn't a huge fan of herion, nor did he like Pam doing it. But what the hell, he died. He's dead now. And that's the saddest part. So why don't we just let him and his stories rest in peace. No one's bothered now, least of all me. I'm glad that he graced us with his presence and showed us a diferent way. But knowing the kinda guy Jim must have been theres never going to be 'the end'. The end of all the speculation. I'm not sure if he'd want that. So lets have a good time. He's no more, his voice, thoughts, and poetry still linger on.