What A Circus

"So share my glory, so share my coffin" - Evita (Andrew Lloyd Webber)

Today I mourn the loss of another young person who self destructed in front of millions only to end up a punch line. Yet another 27, another chuckle about famous junkies. Far be it my style or desire to quote the Bible about casting stones or spells, but does loss really need to be a pissing contest? Death happens all the time, every day and onwards until I die and don't have an opinion.

Is a death worthier of some? Should we all aspire to die in our sleep surrounded by pets and grandchildren. Cue the sepia toned water works. Regardless of the method, are we so hard pressed for emotional currency that we don't have dignity to spare? A simple quiet moment to the passing of a life, be it a singular act or the loss of thousands?

Even on the internet, obscured among the ones and zeros, it is difficult for me to be honest and confront the rank sentimentalist beneath my ashtray heart. But today is a day deserving in truth. Today is no different than any other.

Amy Winehouse, a Virgo, trainwreck, smartassed junkie with an incredible amount of talent and wit. She said in an interview the more stage fright she had, the bigger she teased her hair. She was famous for being honest. She became popular(notorious) for song titled Rehab. I suppose if anyone had listened to anything other than the self-aware chorus, they might have heard "I just think you're depressed/This me, baby, and the rest". She wasn't glorifying anything. She was a mess. She knew that. The whole goddamn world did too. So is this the vindication... the aha moment, a corpse? Drugs are bad. That's why only bad people take them eh. I'm sorry the world lost another person wrapped up in the petty problems that make the world go round. It just seems a bit sadder today. Another reminder that the battle isn't always about winning or losing. It's why we fight to begin with.

So I'll cry for her today. For Norway, for Cobain, for the past and the future bon vivants, the Icarus in designer clothing. Every day we can erode ourselves with the sadness of human traffic. It doesn't mean I will stop drinking. It doesn't mean I'll stop listening to the music that took the lives of their creators. It doesn't mean anything.

The Void Is Thusly Filled

Slow moving poetry. Halogen lightning. Freedom is bass influenced, the protracted footfalls of going nowhere in particular. Freedom is crafting the perfect line and walking it in your most comfortable footwear. Meteors on the glass. Immersing yourself in the baritone of Summer’s last rites. The unimagined, half-remembered past that lines the street. The repetitious, favored words of the digital dead. A million flags will mark momentary change in status. This doesn’t last forever.

Tom Wolfe Misquoted

Greetings From Camp Clever -

Whether or not you hold court or teach clown college, you are convinced your path is the correct one. Wherever you go, your advice is priceless and your actions are tenable. Every relationship has it's share of the truth and the divine right to change metaphors mid publication.

The choice of no choice, of aimless drift and lazy self destruction is obviously the worst sin of all. We are only defined by our jobs if we enjoy them.

And this is what I have. The sand of time lost stuck in socks and unworn shoes. While the wake for the past is ever ongoing, the present unfolds with much aplomb as we compare anecdotes and shots both cheap and plentiful. Nobody ever put a gun loaded with adjectives to their temple much as nobody ever overdoses on self righteousness. It's the good advice you just can't take, and not because irony is the currency of the underpaid and overly entitled. The biological imperative implores as not to raise children who aren't ours and not to accept advice that we haven't expelled spent from our rich interesting lives. The trash piles and the proof sinks.