The following screed has me confused. How about you?(Leave a comment.)

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He stepped onto the stage and faced the crowd as the sounds of Jimi Hendrix played over the PA system.

"Alright, alright, alright, alright." He said, as the music faded. "I just like that song and they got a better stereo than I do, I don't do anything with it, sorry, personal indulgence totally. I got a really shitty stereo, I brought my Dylan tapes down here, you know he sings? I mean this opened up a whole new fucking world, all these years I'm buying his albums, G chord, C chord, G chord, C chord. What kind of genius is this? There's lyrics, some quite profound, I think he has potential."

He scanned the small crowd that had come to see the show. The gathered faces had no meaning to him, they were merely faces. A woman in the front row had a book placed on the table in front of her. She was a vision to him. His heart beat faster and he fell in love with her for the rest of his lifetime.

He was that kind of person. The kind who loves so intensely that all relationships were doomed from the start. Sure; It was a fine and high music for the first few months, when each person wants the other to absorb the spirit of them so deeply that a connection is made for eternity, but a love that burns so bright dies with a giant explosion after a short while.

The Fear took control and his protective shield came up. "I'm glad you've brought a book in case the show bores you. Very nice, I hope you all brought reading material with you, if not we can pass Juliet around the room... Anyone at any point feels like you wanna read Juliet..."

The defense mechanism had kicked in and had almost alienated this woman to the point where she was no longer a threat to his heart. Her spirit, however, wasn't so easily killed and she countered by informing him "It's big in Montreal."

The Fear made the decision to kill her fighting spirit once and for all. "It's big in Montreal, oh I love Montreal, is that where you're from? Let's get back to my show. I... Uh... End of... Uh... End of audience participation. Now... I'm not that quick on my feet you know, it's an, it's an illusion.

He knew he wanted to be a comedian at an early age and, of course, had started performing at school to make the days go by a little easier... A little better... A little funnier. Little did he realize that the slim unassuming boy he was, would grow up to have his name mentioned in the same sentence as such comedy legends as Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor. And yet, if you asked the Average Joe, very few would be able to tell you who William Melvin Hicks was.

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Bill Hicks is a hero to me and that last paragraph is an example of how much I feel like I know a man whom I've never met, who died when I was young and whom I never saw perform live. Heroes are like that. If you have them, they're more than a person to you, they are a God. Their spirits live on and they inspire you to be All That You Can Be. They become a domineering sotto voce in your head and you think "What would (Insert hero/heroine here) do if he/she was in this situation?" when you're faced with a quandary you cannot think of a solution to.

Or they are to me anyway. And why is that? Well, it's because I'm not really a fan of Bill Hicks, I'm a disciple. I'm way beyond mere fanaticism. I'm, over the edge, this guy is The Messiah, stonewall crazy for Bill and all that He created.

I've read countless tributes to Bill Hicks on the internet, I've read books on him, I've been to see shows about him, I've spent years tracking down every obscure bootleg there is, I've bought his stand up shows on CD, video and DVD, I've listened to his shows so many times I could happily quote his shows line for line and still I've not had enough.

But Why? What is there about Bill Hicks that makes me want to know all there is to know about him? Well, in order to try to figure this out we'd have to get into some really painful shit about me. And I'm not sure if I'm up for that at this moment in time...

"Time huh?" Says the small sotto voce of Bill in my head. "I thought you'd figured out that time doesn't exist. Shit, I hinted at it enough."

"Please Bill, not now, I'm trying to figure out why I idolise you. These people don't want to read about how I think you inhabit my soul and make me say rude, terrible things to people... Just for the laughs." I say aloud, as I sit wondering where the fuck this will all end.

"So you don't want to talk about things that may cause you to feel a negative emotion?" Bill says.
"No, I don't like negative emotions, I scar easily and the scabs take a long time to heal." I say.
"Hahahaha, I used to be like that. God how awful. Maybe you'd like to talk about something else?" Bill asks.
"Yes please." I reply.
"Tough shit bubba. There ain't no such thing as a negative emotion, an emotion is always positive. You're perception is all fucked up. Take my death for example... From your perspective me dying was a bad thing, it caused the negative emotion of sadness in you to take over for a while but you adjusted to it and now you use my inspiration to make you a better person. Negative became positive." Bill stated.

I tried to continue writing the thing that I had started but Bill kept interrupting me so I quit trying to write and went for a shower. I stood under the warm spray of water and wondered where the fuck I was headed. Was this episode the beginning of a full on breakdown? Was it the first sign? Is this a portent that has come to inform me that I have gone too far over the edge and am now entirely at the whim of the Grand Whazoo?

Only the Grand Whazoo knew the answers to these questions so I tried to stop thinking about these horrible things. The thoughts continued, as they always do. Even when I am sleeping, and I am in the world of dreams where everything is possible and anything is accomplishable, I still question every little thing that pokes at the part of my brain that causes me to question what is real.

I attempt to shut off the constant whisper of the voices within by concentrating on a tune and I begin to whistle. As the whistle makes way to a hum, the hum becomes a voice, the voice becomes an impression and Mick Jagger begins to sing. "AAI kaint geyt no... Sa Tis Factshun. AAI kaint geyt no gurly akshun, but I tried an a tried and a tried and AAH tried, AAI kaint get no. Satisfactshun."

I laugh at my twisted and contorted face in the mirror. I have my bottom lip stuck out and have my hands resting on my hips with my elbows behind my back. I look like a man doing an impression of a chicken. There must be something that causes these things to happen to me but after many many years of consideration I'm fucked if I can figure it out.

Such has it always been with me. From an early age I have shunned ideas on what is Right and Good from other people and have followed their advice very rarely. I have shunned the idea of conformity and I've loved it all. I'm the atypical Rebel Without a Clue. I have no direction in life and have no desire to drive myself to become career minded. Clear minded would be nice, but career minded is an anathema to me.

Humour keeps me going. It is my sunlight, my CO2, my Fuel. Like a fine spray of petrol in the chamber of an engine, laughter makes my engine run. Hearing someone laugh makes my engine go from idle to racing as quick as a GT40 tearing away from the lights on the main drag on a Saturday night in any village, town or city in the industrialized nation.

But humour is a dangerous fuel. As fuels go humour is on a par with the nitromethane that they use to make top fuel dragsters go from 0-300mph in the blink of an eye... Sometimes the engine makes it to the end of the strip, the driver gets a massive adrenaline buzz and the watchers get to Hear The Beast unleash its fury.

And sometimes, the engine blows...

The engine will spew out its oil all over the track, the nitromethane will combust as the sparks of the chassis grinding along the track come into contact with it and the pistons will smash against the top of their precision hewn cylinders. The car will slide out of control and the driver will close his eyes and pray.

Comedy can be much the same. Bill Hicks knew this and did it anyway. Why?

"It beat having a proper job." Said the voice of bill in my head. "Now I got a question for you. What the fuck are you analyzing all this shit for?"
"I'm fucked if I know Bill." I thought. "I just had the line "He stepped onto the stage and faced the crowd" and it spiraled out of control from that point."

"Selah." Said the voice of Hunter S Thompson.