Sometimes you have to die in order to live again.

There are all sorts of analogies for this; perhaps best known is the lowly caterpillar’s transformation into a cocoon, and then miraculously into a soaring butterfly. A “resurrection, of sorts.”

You’ve probably heard all the cliches.

But after the utter devastation and chaos of the past year, and the pain I’ve caused so many, the metaphors don’t really hold up.

Rather, the caterpillar seems like a shamed and vanquished creature. The cocoon seems more like a coffin, and as for soaring, well, that’s reserved for ones who haven’t made certain mistakes—or at least—for the ones who manage to hide them.

Then I died and went to heaven Austin.

And now I see dead people everywhere.

A city whose motto is “Keep Austin Weird” doesn’t freak out about a sixth sense. Hell, for all they know, there may be a seventh.

A city of people just like…me.

And they see me.

And they are not afraid to admit it.

Only real life stuff in the ATX. Unlike the bible belt where most everyone sees only people who look just like them, this city is independent enough to damn co-dependence to hell—or even worse—to Dallas or Colorado Springs.

This is a city where songs have endings with minor chords, and lyrics that don’t attempt to conjur up happy endings in three verses or less, nor blogs that promise how to solve life’s problems in five easy steps.

Austin has enough angst for the world, so the smug easy answers of melodrama don’t play very well here. To paraphrase the ballad of Jed Clampett, “Blues that is, Stevie Ray, soul to soul.”

This is a city where the business suits called “Dellionaires” rub shoulders (literally) with the birthday suits of “Hippie Hollow.”

Where else in the country would you find a beloved cross-dressing homeless transvestite named Leslie finish second in the mayoral race, become an advocate for the homeless, and have a day (Mar. 8) set aside in his honor?

I died and went to Austin last August and Leslie died and went somewhere else five months previous.

I wonder where he went? Austin is a hard act to follow.

If I happen to be lucky enough to split heaven (or hell) wide open, I really hope my home will be next to Leslie’s.

Somehow, even though I don’t think the boss of either heaven or hell will be upset (or surprised) we’re there, those people formerly known as my friends probably won’t be rushing up to welcome us there.

Not that they are bad, you see…it’s just that most of them haven’t died yet.