1/31/11 A Dead Friend (not “friend” as in Facebook “friend,” but a real one)
It was Makh’s birthday on Sunday. I don’t know how old he would have been. Justin (the driver of the van, also my friend) was feeling bad on Facebook. Everyone was wishing Makh a happy birthday on Facebook. It’s kind of sick. How can a dead person have a happy birthday? And do the dead read Facebook? I hope not. If there is a heaven, I don’t want to just be on Facebook all the time for the rest of eternity.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sam 2-1/??
I’ve never really experienced death, not in a meaningful way. I don’t have that gnawing void somewhere in my stomach that makes me realize “they’re not coming back.” I’ve never lost a pet (or really kept one), or a friend, or even a close family member. Over the course of my life I’ve lost three of my four grandparents, but they were always absent figures. One pair lived in Colorado, the other in Florida, and we never got along. I was at the funerals for both of my grandmothers, though, out of familial obligation if nothing else.
Looking back, the differences between them are more interesting than anything else. My mother’s mother, Lillian, lived in Colorado at the time. It was winter, or maybe late spring. Rainy, I know that. Everyone came to that one, all of her extended family. She’d been active in the church, and the funeral had happened there with a large attendance. I mostly remember it being wet and cold, and sitting around the hospital in the days leading up to it. I don’t think I cried.
Conversely, my father’s mother died in late November in Florida. It was unpleasantly hot, the way Florida always was, and I was the only grandchild there. I don’t really get along with anyone on that side of the family. Not uncles, not my grandfather, not my intimidating smart wanna be dominatrix NSA-employed cousin. They’re nice, don’t get me wrong, but we’re too different. Also that cousin scares me. Still, I was the only grandchild there. It was a small service and sunny the whole time. I know I didn’t cry then.
I wonder if that makes me a bad person?
Looking back, the differences between them are more interesting than anything else. My mother’s mother, Lillian, lived in Colorado at the time. It was winter, or maybe late spring. Rainy, I know that. Everyone came to that one, all of her extended family. She’d been active in the church, and the funeral had happened there with a large attendance. I mostly remember it being wet and cold, and sitting around the hospital in the days leading up to it. I don’t think I cried.
Conversely, my father’s mother died in late November in Florida. It was unpleasantly hot, the way Florida always was, and I was the only grandchild there. I don’t really get along with anyone on that side of the family. Not uncles, not my grandfather, not my intimidating smart wanna be dominatrix NSA-employed cousin. They’re nice, don’t get me wrong, but we’re too different. Also that cousin scares me. Still, I was the only grandchild there. It was a small service and sunny the whole time. I know I didn’t cry then.
I wonder if that makes me a bad person?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Laura - 7
1/27/11 This is the dream I had about Gordon after he passed.
Gordon was there. I was so amazed and happy and proud that he had come back from the brink of death and was now standing right in front of me, smiling. He looked different, weathered. The most striking thing about his appearance was the color of his skin. It looked fake and tan. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Not much happened in the dream; he was just standing there pleasantly and I was looking at him. When I woke up I realized a couple of other odd appearance issues. He had a full head of white hair and he was very skinny. I remember him as bald and fuller-bodied, although before the sickness he had a good amount of hair and he was very thin. I also realized that the tan must have been the makeup that is put on bodies before an open-casket funeral. But there was no funeral, due to Gordon’s wishes, and he is also gong to be cremated, not buried. I didn’t tell Ben about my dream. I felt so sad when I woke up.
Gordon was there. I was so amazed and happy and proud that he had come back from the brink of death and was now standing right in front of me, smiling. He looked different, weathered. The most striking thing about his appearance was the color of his skin. It looked fake and tan. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Not much happened in the dream; he was just standing there pleasantly and I was looking at him. When I woke up I realized a couple of other odd appearance issues. He had a full head of white hair and he was very skinny. I remember him as bald and fuller-bodied, although before the sickness he had a good amount of hair and he was very thin. I also realized that the tan must have been the makeup that is put on bodies before an open-casket funeral. But there was no funeral, due to Gordon’s wishes, and he is also gong to be cremated, not buried. I didn’t tell Ben about my dream. I felt so sad when I woke up.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sam 2-2/??
I want to say that I’ve always had problems with death. That I feel like everyone around me dies, or that I’ve struggled to over come it, or something equally heroic sounding. I haven’t, but I want to. Maybe it’s because we’ve been so trained by popular culture to look at death as a negative thing, but also as formative. How many protagonists come from happy not-dead families? A fair number, but how many of them have those families die by the time their 20, usually in the prologue? Most of them. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad everyone in my family is alive and well. It would be unspeakably terrible if they weren’t, but a tiny unfriendly part of me feels cheated for it.
Laura 4/?
William S. Burroughs had some fucked-up dreams. But, I can relate to my first thought on another planet being, “Hmm, I wonder what the cuisine is like.” I definitely would not be down with the whole no-stomachs thing. Sometimes I feel like eating is a waste of time though, when I have a paper to finish or a song to practice. Times like that I wish we could eat every couple of days and be fine. Bodies are so fucking bizarre. Is that what the no-stomach aliens would think about me? It’s what I think about me. Who would I be if I were one of those no-body Ray Bradbury aliens? Just a ball of light evolved past anything a body could accomplish. I think there was something about music in that story…
Laura 3/?
1/25
Happiness is an empty candy wrapper. Am I happier when food is present and visible before me? Or when there is a freshly emptied plate with just a few morsels left in front of me? Hard to say.
Happiness is an empty candy wrapper. Am I happier when food is present and visible before me? Or when there is a freshly emptied plate with just a few morsels left in front of me? Hard to say.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Laura 2/?
1/23
I was watching something on TV where they spoofed those hungry-abused-animal commercials. They had that horribly tragic Sarah McLaughlin song playing over slo-mo videos of animals… jerking off. It was gross and pretty hilarious. But the regular hungry-abused-animal commercials are unbearably painful to watch. I get a block of icy tears in my stomach when I encounter anyone or anything hungry. I can’t think of anything more sad. Ugh. On a more positive note, the café I went to for lunch had a dog menu, which is pretty creative. I can’t wait to get a dog. Maybe I’ll order one from Sarah McLaughlin and then take it to lunch.
I was watching something on TV where they spoofed those hungry-abused-animal commercials. They had that horribly tragic Sarah McLaughlin song playing over slo-mo videos of animals… jerking off. It was gross and pretty hilarious. But the regular hungry-abused-animal commercials are unbearably painful to watch. I get a block of icy tears in my stomach when I encounter anyone or anything hungry. I can’t think of anything more sad. Ugh. On a more positive note, the café I went to for lunch had a dog menu, which is pretty creative. I can’t wait to get a dog. Maybe I’ll order one from Sarah McLaughlin and then take it to lunch.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Sam 1/??
Food is an interesting thing. One of the most, if you stop and think about it, really. Of all that which we seek, it is only one which, in having and using it, we diminish. Absence and food are, I find, intrinsically bound. The absence of food drives us to seek it, and then from there, to consume it, thereby making it once more absent. People often speak of good meals the way they would speak of fine art. It’s something to be appreciated not just as a way to fill the void inside, but also as an object of beauty and of desire. But unlike a Cézanne or a Rodin, it cannot be left to be appreciated. Instead it is consumed in the process, leaving behind empty plates and dishes, a testament to that which once stood.
Food is also one of the only things which absents itself. Having food, unlike Art or Books, is not enough. That food will either be eaten, presumably by you, or it will rot. Either way it goes away. It’s the one thing that can’t be horded, and if it could, could not be appreciated. Beyond that, however, absence is what makes food so delicious. Familiarity breeds contempt, and having the same meal every day, no matter how incredible it was the first time, will get boring. It’s that separation, the absence of the favorite, that makes food appreciable, that makes it so good. It’s why the meals we remember most are those we ate once one vacation.
Food is also one of the only things which absents itself. Having food, unlike Art or Books, is not enough. That food will either be eaten, presumably by you, or it will rot. Either way it goes away. It’s the one thing that can’t be horded, and if it could, could not be appreciated. Beyond that, however, absence is what makes food so delicious. Familiarity breeds contempt, and having the same meal every day, no matter how incredible it was the first time, will get boring. It’s that separation, the absence of the favorite, that makes food appreciable, that makes it so good. It’s why the meals we remember most are those we ate once one vacation.
Laura 1/?
1/20
I find that I am drawn to novels that spend a lot of time focusing on food. It just seems that details are missing when meals are not described in a character’s daily events. When it comes down to it, we are animals with a crucial base instinct; food descriptions are always going to make writing more interesting to the reader. Would it be considered cheating to use science to coax people into reading one’s book?
I find that I am drawn to novels that spend a lot of time focusing on food. It just seems that details are missing when meals are not described in a character’s daily events. When it comes down to it, we are animals with a crucial base instinct; food descriptions are always going to make writing more interesting to the reader. Would it be considered cheating to use science to coax people into reading one’s book?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Laura - 6
1/20/11 This is the letter I wrote to his mom.
Dear Randi,
I am so sorry for your loss. Gordon was an extremely special individual who I feel lucky to have known. His passion for life, and music in particular, was infectious and influential. I am grateful to be able to celebrate his life with thousands of happy memories. Your family is an extraordinary one, and I can see your strength inspiring Ben every day. Take care.
With Gratitude and Sympathy,
Laura
Dear Randi,
I am so sorry for your loss. Gordon was an extremely special individual who I feel lucky to have known. His passion for life, and music in particular, was infectious and influential. I am grateful to be able to celebrate his life with thousands of happy memories. Your family is an extraordinary one, and I can see your strength inspiring Ben every day. Take care.
With Gratitude and Sympathy,
Laura
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Laura - 5
1/11/11
This is a song I wrote for my best friend after his father died recently.
We Are Not Our Bodies
I don't take pleasure in the routine anymore.
"How come your life seems so much better than mine?"
I take sleep where I can get it,
but I might as well forget all about it.
The road's getting rough,
but I happen to know a guy selling highways...
While that may not be exactly true,
either way, I can carry you.
Every stoplight tried
to make me late that night.
I kept thinking, "We are not our bodies."
It scared the shit outta me
and it gave me comfort.
I'm drinking less in case I need to drive.
You're drinking more to drown the hell that is this time,
but you don't need that shit.
Your mind will make your body numb on its own,
although I understand why you might
not put much faith in bodies right now.
If yours lets you down, I can carry you.
Every nightmare tried
to keep me up all night
I kept thinking, "Which one's reality?"
and "Will this thought still make sense
in the morning?"
It's a fragile time, but I've never felt so strong.
If everything else scares you shitless
please just take comfort in this.
This is a song I wrote for my best friend after his father died recently.
We Are Not Our Bodies
I don't take pleasure in the routine anymore.
"How come your life seems so much better than mine?"
I take sleep where I can get it,
but I might as well forget all about it.
The road's getting rough,
but I happen to know a guy selling highways...
While that may not be exactly true,
either way, I can carry you.
Every stoplight tried
to make me late that night.
I kept thinking, "We are not our bodies."
It scared the shit outta me
and it gave me comfort.
I'm drinking less in case I need to drive.
You're drinking more to drown the hell that is this time,
but you don't need that shit.
Your mind will make your body numb on its own,
although I understand why you might
not put much faith in bodies right now.
If yours lets you down, I can carry you.
Every nightmare tried
to keep me up all night
I kept thinking, "Which one's reality?"
and "Will this thought still make sense
in the morning?"
It's a fragile time, but I've never felt so strong.
If everything else scares you shitless
please just take comfort in this.
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