Sunday, August 24, 2003

Just watched a documentary on VH1 about Warren Zevon and the making of his last album. I'd like to have the clarity of mind and heart to put exact words to my feelings, but it's not possible. There's his music, for one, which popped up in my life for raucous good times and for fall to the floor heartbreak. But there's also his manner, dulled by morphine and cancer, reminding me of my friend Dave Craigmile who took time out from dying to try and cheer me up when I needed it. Or Ryan, who shaped my life in so many ways, not the least of which was dying way too fucking early. By the time I could get to his side, he was too far gone to speak, or even open his eyes, but he was there nonetheless, and still funny as hell, in a Harpo Marx dying from a brain tumor kind of way. Anyway. Sometimes life is grand; sometimes it's a son of a bitch. Sometimes it's both. For Warren, thanks for everything, and I'm glad you got to meet your grandkids. For Dave and Ryan, well, thanks for everything, too, and I wish you could have stuck around a little longer. I miss you both.

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