I'm at Disney this week on business. It makes me very sad to be here. When I was a boy and my brother and I were being molested, my mother went to Disney. She took my cousin and they had a good time. She left us with the priest who was molesting us. It was a great week for him, too. No sneaking around. He could do whatever he wanted.
Outside the window, the sun is setting and every few minutes the monorail passes by casting a shadow across my wall. In 1972 when my mother was in Disney, I remember the monorail was new and everyone marveled at it. I can only imagine what I would have made of it at 9 years old.
But I didn't get there then. Now I'm here at 50, with a cancer and two heart attacks behind me, with my nitro glycerin pills in my pocket, doing a lot of crap to make a lot of money for idiots who aren't smart enough to do what I do. It seems unfair to be here under all this weight and never to have seen it for what it’s meant to be.