Not really sure why. It started with Phil, I suppose because I will be spending some party time in Denver with Blondage and a new friend
at the Cervantes in Denver next Friday.
Blondage at his finest - okay his finest is really swan diving from his apartment window on the 3rd floor - hitting pavement and doing it two more times (sporting some mighty fine liberty spikes, if I do say so myself), but I failed to bring a camera that night, actually back then, I would never sport a camera. Maybe some vodka and a date, but never a camera - don't think I could afford one. There was some glass chewing and piercing with safety pins that evening, too.....he could have 4 or 5 safety pins hanging from his lip at any given time. And this was 15 years ago. God, I loved the punk rock lifestyle back then. When we were the only tattooed and home peirced people on the planet (I sported a piercing in my belly button 15 years ago after slamming some flaming Dr. Peppers and trusting Phil with the safety pin - bad idea folks! but it was fun at the time. I think we did some death defying act shortly after this event)
Blondage ties me to Phil....we were all close friends and really, all 3 of us should be dead considering the stuff we did. I can say that I am damn good at hood surfing doing 35 MPH thanks to Phil and Blondage's technique teaching. In the picture I see the unfinished tattoo of leopard spots on his right arm. Phil's murderer put that ink on Blondage hours before Phil was killed. Blondage has left the tattoo unfinished in memory of Phil.
Then I thought about James. I attended his living memorial the day of my grandfather's funeral - just months after Phil was shot by a mutual friend. James died a few days after his memorial - on his 40th birthday from complications from AIDS. That was a weird week. Juggling a funeral and living memorial on the same the day; while James was at his worse. The hallucinations had stopped but he caughed up blood and sported dementia - that was the extent of the "party" he planned for his death. I spent much of that day smoking cigarettes and talking with the friends I made over the months on the AIDS floor of the Hospice facility. Driving from dead memorial to living memorial.
Ray fell off the wagon later that week and overdosed on heroin. I can still see his crazy dreads and the beautiful art he displayed at local Reggae shows. I still have some photos he shot of me outside his studio - on the train tracks. Those pictures rarely come out. My aunt got brain cancer shortly after this stint of death and died 2 months later. My mother died 12 months later.
Then I thought about another mutual friend who hung himself 2 years ago. He used a belt and a doorframe....he simply lifted his feet and made it happen. Blondage found him and called me at some god awful hour of the morning in a state of freaked out.
I don't do funerals these days. Just don't have it me. Don't think I ever will. But today, and maybe this brought the death stuff into my head, I had a renewed faith in humans. Driving on the highway there was funeral line of cars. Most everyone pulled off to the side so the mourning could follow and continue the procession. We are talking a highway with 16 lanes - 8 each direction and people made it a point to pull over in the emergency lane. Respect, baby! Respect!
I miss my mother sometimes. This song was her portal to her pain and finding peace. She never faced her demons and peace was not something she experienced very often. I know I was her peace (her only child) and guilt often sets in when I dig too deep in my mind over this. I really only miss her a little bit. But I know she was a smart woman living in the wrong time and she would understand how I feel. I am at peace with that.
Reading "needs more cowbell" and Colo's connection to this song brought it all home. This was my mother's memorial song. We gathered close friends and family to the mountains of Colorado and threw her ashes over her favorite waterfall while playing this song.
Today was a day of remembering the dead for some odd reason. I don't think there is any relation to me getting my hair cut, but who am I to question this kind of shit.
And if she was alive, my mother would kick my ass if she saw I posted this camping picture of her. Everyone took too many 'shrooms on this trip. We got hit with a huge September storm and the adults couldn't remember how to get out (the backside of the tallest mountain in CO)...we found an old cabin and set up camp for 4 days until Buena Vista search and rescue showed up. Mom had pea soup, coffee and bread that could feed an army! At least she was prepared and I got out of school for a few days
I used to have a lot of anger over that period of time. Losing so many people in such a short period of time and over silly (really, if you think about it) circumstances.
But this is another chapter in my life that has shaped me into "me". Life really is short and the older I get the more I appreciate how short and precious my time is. I try to smile at everyone, help anyone in need and remember that I am lucky to be here....all along the way doing stupid shit that makes me laugh at myself and laughing at others when they do stupid shit.
What else is there to do?
