Fourteen years ago today, my dear friend Bob Herries died, suddenly. I've told the story before, so I'm not going to go into everything again. Instead, I'll make good use of my scanner and share my pictures of Bob. I don't have many, but they're very dear to me.

( I'm Bob )

I'm trying to remember a time in my life when I didn't feel like I was drowning. Seriously ( Read more... )

Looking through some of my memories this morning, I stumbled onto a post I had written about a night when Bob totally stood up for me, took care of me, and just generally showed himself to be a true friend ( Read more... )

In November of 1995, I went to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving. While I was out of town, Bob and Tracey somewhat suddenly packed up all of their things and moved to Tennessee. It was a bummer, but not a big one, because nothing really bums you out particularly much when you're doing heroin all the time ( Read more... )

August 1995 was an incredibly bad month. I got mugged. I was in a horrible bicycle accident. But the big thing that was fucking with me the most was that I had broken up with Daryk ( Read more... )

I had thought that today was the anniversary of the death of Chicago Bob. Heroin Bob. Bob the first. The Bob that I used to call "Dead Bob" before Pittsburgh Bob, Cocaine Bob, died. At any rate, apparently I have an inability to do things like read calendars effectively, because today is not the fifth, tomorrow is. But I still have Chicago Bob on ( Read more... )

Last night I read the next journal. While journal #1 was pretty much 1995 (or 1994 - 1995), journal #2 covers 1995 - 1999, a four year time span with huge gaps missing. It's an unpleasant read. It starts on an up note -- Daryk and I were still together, in love, happy -- and then goes through a monumental pile of crap -- the breakup, my ( Read more... )

There's a person in my life who's been really depressed lately.

Last night, sitting, thinking, writing in my journal, I had a thought that was at first a little soothing, but which has since become more and more troubling to me:

If they kill themselves, I will get over it ( Read more... )

Insomnia is not my friend, and yet we seem to spend an inordinate amount of time together ( Read more... )

I'm not really sure when I start saving tapes of my friends' voices. Perhaps it was sometime around 1989, when Formaldehyde* left a really funny answering machine message for my roommate's sister and I taped a copy of it (explicit details can be found here). Maybe it was after my Grandfather died, when I got a bunch of the old tapes he'd left lying ( Read more... )