I take this site seriously, even though it’s plainly an old virtual sock collecting my accumulated observational ejaculations. I’ve sometimes questioned any reason to continue, but laughed when I realized there was never a meaningful reason to begin, so why worry about it at [each of these] late date[s]? So I’ve soldiered on, sometimes being inspired to throw things up [in every sense], and at other times hunkering down and spending a couple of seconds to think about things.
But I know that the last few months have been one thing that I always hoped they wouldn’t be: humourless.
I’ve posted no more than thirty thoughts since March, down from my thrice-daily posts of the not-too-distant past. They were either (1) Tweet-like “clever” observations that fell flat and wasted precious bandwidth necessarrrrry to watch cat videos and Miranda Lambert nekkid photos; or (2) lengthy meaningless posts that explained in boring detail that I’m dissatisfied with the governing class, and my government.
But I was hamstrung by an unstated impediment: in March I learned that a long-standing friend and brother was dying, and I learned belatedly that – unbeknownst to me – he had lurked here for a long, long time.
Stupid shit that I had grown used to throwing up here just didn’t mean as much, and somehow seemed horribly disrespectful. Follow-up conversations by phone, after a too-short visit, confirmed for me that his bad, bad lot had turned worse. We silently scrapped any plans to make some music as he admitted that he couldn’t find the strength. And being funny or goofy brought a harsh pain. And, having not been the dedicated friend that I now wish I’d been, I didn’t want to convey to him that life just went along merrily. Because it didn’t.
So I couldn’t be goofy or fun, or even mildly entertaining. It was important to be serious, and to struggle. Or so I thought. Hence the moribund blog.
Well, friend has now died. Passed on; passed away, passed [what, had he suddenly taken up football?] – those words try to soften what is for all of us a final stilling of a voice we’d long to hear.
Being the committed and enthusiastic atheist that I am, I’m not comforted by thoughts of eternal reunion, or of him being in a better place – I’m convinced that the random beauty of his collection of cells and chemicals couldn’t sustain itself as a collection. All of those random chemicals that propelled him are now back in their uncombined form. And I – this collection – will cohere for bit longer until I’m no longer together. And the wonder of life–experiencing all of this for my short time in a form with memory chemicals and storage cells–is even stronger: the majesty of such an infinite, random universe producing me and him is pretty damned cool.
But I remember happy times and miss them, and am sad.
And so my misguided period of respect comes to a close.
I’ll have some tits and a movie review up shortly, I’m sure.