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    Puzzles is in jail. I have been in shock, then grieved, tolerated French Quarter residents’ advice on Gris Gris, wolfbane (as he is a wolf) rites and various riffs on how to get over a man. And decided I didn’t want to get over him.

    I’ve spoken to his mother, who sounded like Blanche Dubois on acid. I’ve had the support of his sisters and his aunt. They all wanted this to be the when and how of him turning his life around. I heard lurid details of the pain, suffering and neglect that he endured, growing up. He'd been on the road since 14, riding the rails.

    His sudden success in the movie industry, and the stability and ease of his new life were too good to be true. His earlier conditioning made it unacceptable.

    When Puzzles created chaos he invoked Deities of fucking up. Trickster spirits, Bacchanalian excess. Take no prisoners. He had public drunkenness and disturbing the peace attachments punctuating the map of America. At a bar he frequented, Corner Pocket, an old man shook his head when he saw me with Puzzles, smiled and said “He’s a bad, bad boy!”

    It was a Friday, when Puzzles threw our lives together to the wind. I was on the set of Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter, in a hoop skirt. My psyche hurt like a spiritual migraine after speaking to him on the phone. He sounded strange, and he hadn’t taken his shirts to the dry cleaners. I reminded him that he’d need them on Monday, as he was a featured extra in The Loft.

    I called again. Puzzles, in an incoherent attempt at stream of consciousness communication, said the Director of Fire With Fire wanted a photo shoot, right now, in the French Quarter. He had my Olympus. He was quite manic. I heard the train, and the inebriated voices of his travelling friends, Goblin, Cowboy and BoozeCop,

    I left the set, took a cab home, and discovered him on the sidewalk in front of Sidney’s Liquor. He had kicked the window out of a cop car in this same spot a year ago, because the police were tazing his girlfriend (who had tried to commit suicide by riding her bicycle into a street car.)

    He swore no one had been in my apartment, but the camera told a different story. My belongings had been turned upside down. Meds were missing. He stumbled around, ranting, lines of reality blurred, distorted He took his belongings and left. The next morning Puzzles was arrested for swimming in the Mississippi River. Moon told me he had been on Moly, and was drunk.

    I knew his stories were compilations of truths and untruths. With Puzzles, the stories that were the most far-fetched WERE true. But, the seemingly simple facts suffered from the greatest distortion. Name. Birthdate. I held a steady heart chakra vigil. And bailed him out. Puzzles.
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