But when I think more personally about James, who battled drugs and depression, I am reminded of Carrie Fisher's alter ego in "Postcards From The Edge." A single line in the looping scene from that film seems to contain an even better summation of his internal struggle:
"The trouble is: I can't feel my life. I can't feel it. I see it all around me and I know that so much of it is good but I just take it the wrong way."
James was very open about his drug use: GHB, steroids, and more recently (and sadly) meth. His last post on Tumblr four days before he died contained his recipe for physical success, with the ominous caveat "I'm waiting until I pop. Or my liver fails... [whichever] comes first." He was so like the figures of Greek mythology that he physically embodied, always tempting fate, always flying too close to the sun. But like those fables of old, he knew he was a cautionary tale, not a design for living.