SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: NIKI CONOLLY
I've had a four-month long experience with a near-death killer-infection eating away at the bones in the center of my back. In mid-January I was suddenly without warning Learjet-air-lifted hastily arranged and flown out of Nashville racing towards Kaiser Permanente South San Francisco Hospital under extreme narcotic sedation. For two months I had physical and mental therapy, antibiotics that would kill a horse, 24-hour rehab programs and narco pain meds that could put Dracula to sleep. Except for a small handful of professional medical experts and miracle workers, who, luckily for me, specialized in excellence, integrity and compassion, my experience at this facility located on the border of San Francisco's Tenderloin district could only be described as an urban nightmare exceeding its incompetence and cowardice only by its corruption.
However, there was a silver-lining. What was good about this was that it compelled me to grasp hold of, to cherish, to dream and to treasure my relationship, my infinite life-times of a continuing love affair with my girlfriend, Nico - Niki Conolly. "Girlfriend" is too weak of a word. Maybe "Angel" or "Saint" would be stronger. The fact is, she's been my eternal source of physical and spiritual strength every time I quit, and believe me, I quit many times. But now, after it's over, I'm happy to admit that I can't think about her, or talk about her, or write a sentence about her without crying rivers of sobbing tears of thankfulness and tenderness!
Since this ordeal started 60 days ago, after hundreds of photos I've taken in San Francisco, eventually realizing that essentially I've been taking the same photographs of the same people, in the same conditions, talking the same conversations, going about their usual business which is really the same boring business, running off as fast as they can in any direction, ignoring each other as significantly and as meaningfully as they possibly can: Niki Conolly is the one thing, the one person, the one woman, the one human, the one essence, the one existence that stands out for me as a brightly lit star, truly and clearly unique, radically individualistic, intensely generous and unlike anyone I've ever known, who has a deeper purpose of character than I'll ever have.
In sharp contrast to the same-old humanism I saw in the images of my photos, Niki is totally different from everyone and everything. Her conversations are like no other. Her interests are wide and varied. Her ability to love unconditionally and especially her willingness to love me seems to be boundless. She's the one element in my experience since November 2008, when this killer infection began trying to kill me, that she was then and she is now, the one single element that has never been like everyone else, never been the same as anything or anyone else. When I see a photo of Niki, and I see a photo I took of another woman reading a book in Union Square, San Francisco, they are clearly two separate and distinct women. There's a woman like every other woman, reading a book; and then there's Niki Conolly.
I can't even thank her! That's supposed to be a joke: "Thanks" is something I say to someone who reaches across a table and passes the salt and pepper; it's not what I say to someone who took a stand for my life, who took an unwavering stand that I would live no matter what, and she stood and withstood all the obstacles and she saw it thru to a happy ending. As I complete this modest tribute to her, and as I dedicate to her all the photos published here, I hope I've made it abundantly clear to anyone reading exactly who it is I consider to be responsible for my renewed recovery, health, fitness and well-being. If it hadn't been for Niki Conolly, I wouldn't be here today. I love her and I am devoted to her happiness.
I've had a four-month long experience with a near-death killer-infection eating away at the bones in the center of my back. In mid-January I was suddenly without warning Learjet-air-lifted hastily arranged and flown out of Nashville racing towards Kaiser Permanente South San Francisco Hospital under extreme narcotic sedation. For two months I had physical and mental therapy, antibiotics that would kill a horse, 24-hour rehab programs and narco pain meds that could put Dracula to sleep. Except for a small handful of professional medical experts and miracle workers, who, luckily for me, specialized in excellence, integrity and compassion, my experience at this facility located on the border of San Francisco's Tenderloin district could only be described as an urban nightmare exceeding its incompetence and cowardice only by its corruption.
However, there was a silver-lining. What was good about this was that it compelled me to grasp hold of, to cherish, to dream and to treasure my relationship, my infinite life-times of a continuing love affair with my girlfriend, Nico - Niki Conolly. "Girlfriend" is too weak of a word. Maybe "Angel" or "Saint" would be stronger. The fact is, she's been my eternal source of physical and spiritual strength every time I quit, and believe me, I quit many times. But now, after it's over, I'm happy to admit that I can't think about her, or talk about her, or write a sentence about her without crying rivers of sobbing tears of thankfulness and tenderness!
Since this ordeal started 60 days ago, after hundreds of photos I've taken in San Francisco, eventually realizing that essentially I've been taking the same photographs of the same people, in the same conditions, talking the same conversations, going about their usual business which is really the same boring business, running off as fast as they can in any direction, ignoring each other as significantly and as meaningfully as they possibly can: Niki Conolly is the one thing, the one person, the one woman, the one human, the one essence, the one existence that stands out for me as a brightly lit star, truly and clearly unique, radically individualistic, intensely generous and unlike anyone I've ever known, who has a deeper purpose of character than I'll ever have.
In sharp contrast to the same-old humanism I saw in the images of my photos, Niki is totally different from everyone and everything. Her conversations are like no other. Her interests are wide and varied. Her ability to love unconditionally and especially her willingness to love me seems to be boundless. She's the one element in my experience since November 2008, when this killer infection began trying to kill me, that she was then and she is now, the one single element that has never been like everyone else, never been the same as anything or anyone else. When I see a photo of Niki, and I see a photo I took of another woman reading a book in Union Square, San Francisco, they are clearly two separate and distinct women. There's a woman like every other woman, reading a book; and then there's Niki Conolly.
I can't even thank her! That's supposed to be a joke: "Thanks" is something I say to someone who reaches across a table and passes the salt and pepper; it's not what I say to someone who took a stand for my life, who took an unwavering stand that I would live no matter what, and she stood and withstood all the obstacles and she saw it thru to a happy ending. As I complete this modest tribute to her, and as I dedicate to her all the photos published here, I hope I've made it abundantly clear to anyone reading exactly who it is I consider to be responsible for my renewed recovery, health, fitness and well-being. If it hadn't been for Niki Conolly, I wouldn't be here today. I love her and I am devoted to her happiness.
