Sean Alexander has been a friend to the Volcano. He's been a bigger friend to Tacoma, at least in our opinion. The Helm gallery and the Squeak and Squawk music festival only begin the list of things he's given us. He's also an artist. And he's moving far away soon. Since we're going to miss him so much, we decided to let him do what he wanted with this week's issue. The hand-drawn cover and these words are what he sent us. Thanks, Sean. For everything. From all of us. - Matt Driscoll

Leaving Town (Love and Peace Signs)

by Sean Alexander

I walked away

From everyone I know

I looked around and thought

This must be what it's like to be alone.

Oh, how to be brave

You've gotta be brave

Looks like no choice to me.

-The Strange Boys

I'm moving out of the Northwest for the first time in three weeks. I've been trying not to think about it. I'm scared. Scared to be without these people and their faces.

I love your faces.

Scared to be without these streets I know so well. Because those streets will never, could never, be these streets. With the bums and their walks.

I love our bums. I love their walks.

Scared to not feel that sense of community. To know where my little bits of money and time are going. And to say, "thank you" and mean you.

Thank YOU. So many times.

Scared to have no identity because maybe I'm just a person who exists this way because you exist that way. Like ours were just a series of bizarre, forgettable, interactions that could have been different. And moving on wipes it all away.

Here is a peace sign. It's a hand peace sign. It's waving too.

Scared of failing. And getting lost. And being alone and crying and crazy. With no one. Especially not you.

If you see me sad, just look at me like it's gonna be OK and like I'm OK. And like we're two of the same. And like this place is ours. 

And mostly I'm scared to lose you.

Because I love you. And losing love is hard.

But I'm not a loser. I'm just losing.

************************************************************************

I have been a wretch in this town for months now. You may have seen me in my big, dark, wool-coatness. One of the sad looking people walking down 6^th. Drunk in this bar. Or that bar. Always swilling. Keeping quiet. Eyes unstable. Smoking on the side of the building. Lost in bad thought. Thoughts of letting people down and loose ends. Thoughts of fucking my life up and hating myself. Thoughts of America and ruination. Thoughts of the end of life and of love. And thoughts of losing my mind here.

I hate it. I can't drink it, I can't smoke it, I can't love it away. I can't get it off me. I know it's not brave to leave. It's brave to look in the mirror. And it's brave to put one foot in front of the other. And it's brave to break yourself one habit at a time. And does removal even help in that process? Can a place hold a person back? With its endless rain. And its easy-earned praise. Its nightlife. And its proud underdoggedness. Can a place hold you down?

No.

But leaving is still important. It's the only thing you can do when you don't want to be you anymore. It's the precursor for redemption. And returning is soldierly. Man on a mountainly. And the spirit grows quick away.

At my best and in lightness, I'll have these "Yes We Can" moments that double as "Yes You Can" moments. I'll imagine this hammer of good. And say, I am a hammer of good. I don't know what a hammer of good is yet. Do you? And can we? Can you? And can I? Can we hammer out something good together? Can we hammer it out here? Did we already?

All this probably sounds really weird. Whatever. It isn't the first time...

************************************************************************

I'm going to miss you. You're the only home I've ever had. Thank you for loving me. And if you hated me, thank you for not saying so. Thank you for your good soul. Thank you for your helping hands.Thank you for not changing. And thank you for not being stupid.When I get well and come back, we should get a drink. A strong one. And we should sing karaoke together at PSP.

Here is a love sign. It's a heart shape. It's perfect. I'm nervous to give it to you. But it belongs to you.