Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

J was my age when it happened. 25. This past Christmas season. My life turned upside down and now I'm back in the reality of life. Life doesn't stop when your best friend gets heart disease and dies. He was still young enough to be a punk and to give his family heart time. But too old to sneak out at night with me and get into trouble like we used to do when we were teens. So I didn't know if this was a story or poem or sappy memoir. So the answer is yes. Here is my artsy memory of him:(it takes place from summer of 05 to erm, spring of 06)
"J"
It feels like my back is going to fall off, as the sun singes it more
And we are floating in the ocean with our clothes on
This is a memory I have of you when someone says your name

I wonder why my stereo stops as it is plugged in
I wonder if spirits are fiddling with it
And I am getting older, decrepit old mid-20's
Youre laughing at me on your q-tip cloud

I hide the tears I shed for you
Best friend, they told me to get over your death in three days
We held a wake and your body was not there
Lucky Irish man who wanted to be scattered into our Atlantic ocean

I walked through jungles with New York cops recently
I learned less than I did in school
The humid air holds notes of a song I've yet to write
I wrote seventy pages of my book but now that you are gone
I must start over

You will be the angel or the ghost character
Who is always saving me or steering me from strange dirt roads
I have nothing and everything left to say

I stood over a local lake, makeshift Atlantic for the carless
and used sticks and pebbles
In place of you
As I tossed them into the water
I spoke of all the things a twenty five year old likes
Obscure bands and poetry leaving out the stuff you really liked
As family members were present

We were 13 once, when I met you
You wore a skinny tie that your Dad made you wear to school
We already liked literature
But I can't remember what bonded us
I'm not the only one on earth who has lost their best friend
Happy 26th birthday to you
The artist hanging about in heaven

Happy to see you here Andeh:

So I didn't know if this was a story or poem or sappy memoir. So the answer is yes. Here is my artsy memory of him

I think there is a fine line between the creative board and snippets. I think you posted it to the right board. I did not find it artsy at all. But what do truck drivers know about art.

Joey
Sixth grade walking to PS #2
A car hit a lamp post and knocks it over
It fell on him and killed him instantly
We had a fight a couple days before he was killed
I felt so bad about his death

Then years later I met his sister at The Diner in Baltimore
A couple days after I met his sister
I dreamed about him for the first time
Or maybe it was a couple days before I met his sister
The accident happened over fifty years ago
My memory is not what it used to be
Well after the dream
I woke up feeling a lot better
I remember him now as a 12-year-old Buddha


Sorry to ramble all over your post
I am sorry for your loss
The writing was beautiful
Thanks for posting

The beauty of this, I guess, is this man who died is the one who introduced me to the Beats. He introduced me to Kerouac and Ginsberg. He would read Ginsberg to me, say, "Howl", at the top of the stairs at his family's annual Christmas party (when we were teens). I wonder, would I even be writing amidst all of you, if it weren't for him. So, glad to have shared this memory.

You will be the angel or the ghost character
Who is always saving me or steering me from strange dirt roads
I have nothing and everything left to say

hey andeh
ya brought a tear to me unjaundiced eye
amigo
me pops bought th farm 6 days afore 'is 23rd birthday in march of '48
a previous lifetime
mercy
but i never knowed 'im
no
yer loss is keen an i thankya for yer ditty
very special
when ya layz down a thread
a cosmic thread
from deep felt
mercy
i lost me best buddhabuddy in '97
th year afore i met me wife
an old man already i were
but i cried real grief when me friend died
a heart attack at 50 not too nifty
an i miss
'im still
'is grieving old mum sent me all 'is kerouak books
i sent 'er xmas cards for about 5 years after
i got 'is card from 'is second an last trip back to vietnam on me bedside altar
along with a plastic blue pyramid with words from thich nhat hanh in it
"being peace" in blue
what can ya do? 'cept write an ode
a memoir
heartfelt
an therefore more true
blue
welcome home[/color]

stilltruckin
you th original mind
of th desolation angel
amigo

I read that book last year
excellent stuff, man
being peace is a great place to be.

i think i'll drag it off my shelf and read it again
in honor of our departed friends