I could have started a few days before this, but I saw no point. The flight is now. Which makes it the day the tour starts. 11:21 p.m. I find myself on a plane en route to Auckland, New Zealand. Then I believe onto Wellington. But at this point it doesn’t really matter. 14 hours on a plane is 14 hours. New Zealand is not America. Leaving on Sunday and arriving on Tuesday is another. Feeling life’s hammering from the past few months here with me in seat 51H. It will be staying with me for a while. It is my only true friend. Dinner is what you’d expect on a plane. Managed to get half of Yukio Mishima’s Sun And Steel down. Interesting take on things. I’m finding it hard to write here. I’m not sure if it’s me or the plane. I hope this will make it far enough. There is nothing else. Just the beginning of another tour. No van, all plane. And the words aren’t seeming to make it into the head, much less the page. There’s nothing you can do about it. Tomorrow brings New Zealand. I’m done here in 51H.
It’s 8:08 a.m. now. Tuesday, Auckland Airport. The inside of yet another airport terminal waiting for the 8:30 flight out. Next seat 12G. Next town Wellington. Losing a day on the flight has no effect, yet.
3/22/98 Quantas Airways Seat 25J
The watch shows Monday the 23rd, 8:45 a.m. in Perth, Australia. Which hasn’t happened here in the States yet. All I know is I’m here in 25J, window seat, Los Angeles. Nothing within this plane is moving. Not sure how long I’ve been at it today. But now we're leaving. Last flight of the day. Feel like my head is exploding. Everything is packed full of shit. Nose, head, thoughts. Feeling like shit, sitting in a full plane with no air. Trying to breathe dead air, as everything gives way. 39,000 feet in the air. Second country, third plane. Been at it well over 24 hours. I don’t try to put it back together. All the broken pieces won’t make the puzzle. Sitting, breathing and existing is hard enough as is, as everything falls apart. I walked into the airport in Perth and boarded a plane. That was some time ago. Tomorrow for you, yesterday for me. I have managed to put the future behind me up here, right now. I sit trying to forget where I came from and where I am going. As life is about to kick my teeth down my throat again. If I could end life in this seat, I would.
Sat exhausted on the first flight form Perth to Sydney. Found a little sleep and passed on the food. Sydney to Los Angeles felt even more gone. Found a little more sleep, the coffee was shit and passed on all the meals. Now I am in the air, feeling completely gone. Just feel like dying. Perth to Sydney. Sydney to Los Angeles. Los Angeles to New York. I took a lot, I gave everything I had. That is what makes it real. Haven’t figured out if I went with everything and came back with nothing, or went with nothing and came back with everything. It will all work itself out soon enough. Later tonight in the cell, it will officially be over. The thought of you will stay for a while. I see no point in continuing this any longer. Thank you. Goodbye.
David A. Fitschen, circa 1970, is a writer and painter living in New York City. He no longer tours with bands and you can guess why. He loves a musician whose name is Joan and she loves him. Which is all that matters, and this excerpt from his touring journals.