California Uber Alles

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

Confession time. (I know, I know, that’s all the time. But this one is special.) I had a little bit of a fantasy from time to time that without me Ziggy was leading an out of control diva workaholic life, in which he was being slowly driven insane by the pressures of fame and the alienation, from which of course the only rescue or relief was to be found in my arms. This was partly how I explained to myself stuff like, oh, him showing up solo at a random airport hotel seemingly just to see me: that was him escaping from his celebrity tabloid life and getting a good solid dose of down-to-earth Daron medicine.

I know there were times he was trapped behind the wall of his entourage, or by his public facade. I liked the idea of coming to his rescue.

I’ll let you decide who came to whose rescue, though, that particular morning in Los Angeles. I woke up with with my arms full of him and for a while I couldn’t remember where we were or why we were there or where we needed to be next.

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