Not to sound like a broken record but: my friend died. No, not that one; a different one. Pat. The person who in middle school introduced me to punk rock as a lifestyle. Who I was lucky enough to call my best friend from my late teens through early 20s, before I got too old and cool to have "best friends." A beautiful, gentle man whose absurd sense of humor and small, sweet gestures made our awful reality just a little bit better.
I wish the world had been better to him.
I feel a deep, wrenching regret that I didn't try to reach out to him for so many years, to make sure that he knew how much he and his friendship meant to me, how deep my love for him was.
We have to say what we mean while we still can.
I am exhausted by grief. I'm tired of feeling it, of witnessing it, and of talking about it. Tired of more and more songs being added to the pile of songs that I can't listen to unless I have an hour to recover. But most of all, I am tired of losing friends. It's an inevitability of life, but for fuck's sake, I'm 42. Why do I know so many dead people?
Pat loved as wide a variety of music as I did. He was the first friend of mine who liked Springsteen -- I didn't get on board until years later, but I do have fond memories of walking around Towson Town Center with him, laughing my ass off as he screamed the lyrics to "Born in the USA". We got into and obsessed over Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails together. Eventually, by way of Dystopia and Grief, we got into doom metal. He fucking loved Asunder. I remember his MySpace page used to autoplay "Twilight Amaranthine". Here's A Clarion Call.
After I found out, I was digging around in crates, looking for my old notebooks, in which he and I used to jot down stupid ideas for joke bands, made up languages, drew unflattering sketches of mutual friends, shit like that. Pretty sure I hadn't looked in them for over a decade. Inside the front cover of one, I found a small, folded piece of paper. On the outside, it says "To Tim, Love from Pat. Happy birthday." Unfolded, the inside just says "I love you." It fucking wrecked me, and it's wrecking me right now just thinking about it. I love you too, Pat.
I have been downloading music from you for something like six years now. Like 75% of what you post is entirely not my style. But I still take the time to read every post as a small thank you for the awesome output you have kept up over the years. Its strange to do so, as you start to develop one of those weird parasocial, "I know this guy" type feelings after reading somebodies musings for so long. All of this rambling is to say that I genuinely appreciate what you do. I am sorry you are going through such a rough patch right now. I have nothing to offer but my sympathies and the simple knowledge that I, and so many other visitors, are grateful for what you have to say and your awesome music recommendations. I did not know Pat. I do not know you. But what you are doing here means something and I bet your younger selves would've fucking dug it.
ReplyDeleteWell. sounds like it's about time that somebody up there cut you some slack; it's been a bad year or so for you and I can only sympathise. I'm nearly 30 years older than you and live on another continent - further to that, the places where our musical tastes intersect seem to be getting fewer as the years pass, but what you have suffered and how you write about it affects me more than many other blogs I visit and though I have considered visiting less often or not at all. I keep coming back and stuff like this makes me glad that I do. I won't bother you with empty cliches because nothing I say will ease your grief, but if it matters to you, I'm still out here and still reading.
ReplyDeleteWhat the anonymouses said.
ReplyDelete