I think that dying might bring about a profound loneliness. I don’t feel lonely in life, but I do think this would be a very hard discovery at the end. Assuming there might be a time of consciousness, I think that serious medication might be a help. Not to put me out, but to smooth things over. The last time I had surgery, the anesthesiologist visited me in Recovery and gave me a sheet of paper on which was listed all of the drugs he had administered. I was glad to get it after the surgery, since I went down the list thinking, That’s what killed Michael Jackson, that’s what killed Prince. I don’t take recreational drugs, never did, but I would like to have the option of taking the edge off of fear. People I love at my bedside—I don’t see that being a comfort, but a reminder of who I’ll be losing. Music might be welcome. I could imagine wanting to hear Jorma Kaukonen sing “Genesis.”

There’s a few enemies I’d like to take with me. I think mostly telling my family how much I love them, stuff you don’t do. We’ve all lost people and you think, ‘well, I wish I would have said that to them’, or, ‘I wish I would have told them this’. So there would be a lot of that, telling people I love them and what they mean to me and stuff.

The only thing left to achieve would be to just enjoy the fact that the ride was amazing, and probably say as many ‘I love you’s as I could. It would be a day of reflection for sure. But I wouldn’t want for more because I’ve had more than I could have ever imagined in the first place.

I’d run it like every day: have something good to eat, make sure my body’s feeling good, and then when it’s time to go I’d head to the spa and just be massaged into death.

Five years ago, a concrete plug, a little bigger than a baseball, fell off a building on Hollywood Boulevard when I was riding in an open convertible. It shattered the windshield. It really shook me. I still have it on my mantel.

To the Scissor Sisters. Back in the day, I could be an absolute monster; I was a real asshole.

The realisation that I am no longer young.

A Henry Darger painting. Sadly, I lost it in the divorce, but it was a great parting gift.

Getting older and dying.