href="#ulink_e598bd9d-170b-54e7-a0fd-26a3eab1cbaa">Chapter Eleven: Teeth
Chapter Thirteen: Ligaments and Tendons
Chapter Fourteen: Eyes
Chapter Fifteen: Radial and Ulna Bones
Chapter Sixteen: Anatomical Snuff Box
Chapter Seventeen: Liver
Chapter Eighteen: Tongue
Chapter Nineteen: Neurotransmitters
Chapter Twenty: Calvaria
Chapter Twenty-one: Blood
Chapter Twenty-two: Cell
Chapter Twenty-three: Digitus Impudicus
Chapter Twenty-four: Innominate
Chapter Twenty-five: Pubic Bone
Chapter Twenty-six: Cerebrum
Chapter Twenty-seven: Pituitary Gland: Part I
Chapter Twenty-eight: Achilles
Chapter Twenty-nine: Fibula
Chapter Thirty: Platelets
Chapter Thirty-one: The Central Nervous System
Chapter Thirty-two: Umbilical Cord
SECTION III: REVERSE PLANCHE
Chapter Thirty-three: The Mind
Chapter Thirty-four: Spinal Column
Chapter Thirty-five: Tibia
Chapter Thirty-six: Pituitary Gland: Part II
Chapter Thirty-seven: DNA
Chapter Thirty-eight: The Human Being
Chapter Thirty-nine: The Soul
Epilogue
I first met Joe Putignano in the fall of 2008 at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City, where he had recently been employed as an acrobat in various opera productions. I had been invited there to stage Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust, the story of an aging man dissatisfied with his life as a scientist who encounters Satan’s envoy, Mephisto, who offers to give him back his youth in exchange for his soul. After leading Faust through the many pleasures of debauchery and the illusions of love, Mephisto deceives him and drags him down the predictable path to Pandemonium, where he is condemned to be consumed by eternal flames. In this piece, Joe played one of the acrobatic devils unleashed from the bowels of the Earth to plague the world with lustful sins; the performers were asked to defy gravity by crawling up and down the abrupt façades of the set.
At the time, little did I know about Joe’s own downward spiral or the nature of the hellish lifestyle from which he had just recently emerged. The young artist I had been introduced to seemed to be a fit and healthy athletic performer with boyish looks, apparently capable of accomplishing any physical task. But his frightened eyes told a whole other story. I noticed that after rehearsals he never joined the cast for a drink, nor did he take part in any of the post-show celebrations organized by the Met. It was only much later when I mentioned this to him that he confessed to me his past tribulations with heroin and his day-to-day struggle to stay in recovery.
For the next few months, Joe and I agreed to further discuss his struggles through a series of emails. There were, of course, occasional meetings where most of the time I sat quietly as a citizen of Thrace listening to the chilling tale of Orpheus’s return from the underworld and felt that this was definitely something that deserved to be shared with others.
The following year I offered Joe a chance to take part in Totem, a new Cirque du Soleil touring show about evolution. This time he was asked to personify the Crystal Man, a luminous entity in the shape of a human mirror ball that opens the show, contorting as he descends from the outskirts of the universe, carrying with him the initial spark that is at the origin of all life forms on our planet. On tour, Joe quickly became the spokesperson for the show and eloquently took advantage of the new public platform to tell his own personal story, inspiring many recovering addicts and giving hope to thousands of substance abusers around the world.
In the past few years I have been a privileged witness to the developmental phases of Joe’s book project, and discovered quite early in the process that he was a gifted writer and a great storyteller. He paints an informed and detailed portrait of a social disease that is the direct consequence of our dysfunctional families, our flawed educational system, and a competitive culture that urges everyone to try to be number one instead of helping one find his or her own uniqueness. I truly believe the reason that Joe’s story will resonate so strongly with people everywhere is that it not only speaks to our addictive natures, but has the courage to raise important existential questions about the lack of meaning and spiritual void that have become so emblematic of our Western societies.
Robert Lepage
Creative Director
Cirque du Soleil’s Ka and Totem
Thank you to everyone who has supported, listened, and delivered patience to this creative process. For without you, I would not have been able to do this.
Special thanks to Jonathan Nosan, for a beautiful life lived together, for your inspirational talent, and wonderful care for my book.
Thank you Robert Lepage, whose friendship and creativity have inspired me beyond words and given me the strength to persevere.
To the legendary, iconic goddess, Twyla Tharp, for your magnificence, strength, and creative force that have changed my life.
Thank you Joseph Burgess, for standing by me through my very worst and very best times.
Thank you Dr. Sanjay Gupta, for your kindness and humility, and for allowing me to get my story out to other addicts in need of help.
Thank you Matt Sloane, for your friendship, support, and trust throughout this entire process.
Thank you Mike Ruiz, for your incredible talent, kindness, and support. Thank you Scott Marrs, for your friendship and inspirational spiritual talks.
Thank you Jeff Lund, for the friendship and spiritual support.
Thank you Matt Tanzer, for your friendship, patience, and understanding throughout some of my darkest moments.
Thank you Mark Lund, for your friendship and teaching me how to network.
Thank you to Cirque du Soleil and the “Totemites,” whose support, dedication, and strength have allowed me to follow my dreams and never give up.
Thank you Nancy Schenck, Eliza Tutellier, and Arnold Gosewhich, for handling my story and words with such grace, dignity, and love. Thank you for allowing me to have my many meltdowns.
And thank you to my family: Mom, Dad, Tricia, Jenn, and Michael, for loving me when I could not love myself.
Nobody could see it, could they? The people passing by . . . could they see what was happening to me? I stood on a New York City sidewalk with my eyes shut, asleep, dead, lifeless, but not falling over as the cigarette fell from my lips.