Κατὰ τον δαίμονα ἑαυτοῦ
It was Lauren's birthday. When I called her to see what she was doing tonight, I found out from her that Josh Province died last night.
In 6th grade, he moved to Cortland with the rest of his family. At the time, I was the only guy in our grade with long hair, and I thought it was pretty cool, but when he got there, I instantly noticed that his long hair looked better than mine, and I was really pissed about it.
In 7th grade, Jarred and I were intending to sweep the competition at our Jr. High Track and Field Day. We were the two fastest runners on our track and field team at the time, and we were understandably self-assured going into that day. At the end of the day, we were both really pissed that Josh--who wasn't on the track and field team--had beat us both in every race we'd competed in.
In 8th grade, I had a T-shirt from Abercrombie and Fitch that said "ABERCROMBIE SOCCER. GO HARD OR GO HOME." I wore it a few times, and then one day in the middle of the year, Josh and three or four others wore crew undershirts that read "ABERCROMBIE AND FITCH SOCCER. GO HARD OR GO HOME. ...I'LL GO HOME." It was weird, because it was 8th grade, and it meant big drama to a lot of people. I mean, I was a little surprised and a little upset about it, but it never really phased me too much.
During one of the very last moments of high school, I gave--along with Lauren--our class's commencement speech, which was titled "Go Hard or Go Home," and ended with that line. It was a good speech, got a lot of applause and a lot of handshakes afterward, and after I'd just finished giving it, I walked back to my seat, past Josh. Laughing, he gave me a kind of five/hand-shake, and we had a moment (albeit very brief) in which we both just recognized each other.
Last night he drank too much, threw up in bed, and suffocated in his vomit.
The only other names I can place with a death like that are John Bonham and Jimi Hendrix. But I've never really thought of those deaths as having been from asphyxiation due to alcohol-induced vomiting; those deaths have always been at the hand of Rock'N'Roll--Rock'N'Roll killed those two. I've disguised what happened to them, and gave them something bigger than themselves to die for... or die by, that is.
But Josh didn't die by anything mythological like Rock'N'Roll. He just died after having a Saturday night out with some of his friends. He died from having a good time.
And the world won't stop tomorrow to recognize his death. In fact, classes start at 8:00 in the morning.
I'm just...
I'm fucking shocked. And I'm really sad. And I don't know what to say. What do you say?
"Somebody gave me this telephone... I think it was Edie... yeah, it was Edie.... And she said I could talk to God with it, but uh... I don't have anything to say.... So here... this is for you.... Now you can talk to God."
-Andy Warhol, giving a golden telephone to Jim Morrison
In 6th grade, he moved to Cortland with the rest of his family. At the time, I was the only guy in our grade with long hair, and I thought it was pretty cool, but when he got there, I instantly noticed that his long hair looked better than mine, and I was really pissed about it.
In 7th grade, Jarred and I were intending to sweep the competition at our Jr. High Track and Field Day. We were the two fastest runners on our track and field team at the time, and we were understandably self-assured going into that day. At the end of the day, we were both really pissed that Josh--who wasn't on the track and field team--had beat us both in every race we'd competed in.
In 8th grade, I had a T-shirt from Abercrombie and Fitch that said "ABERCROMBIE SOCCER. GO HARD OR GO HOME." I wore it a few times, and then one day in the middle of the year, Josh and three or four others wore crew undershirts that read "ABERCROMBIE AND FITCH SOCCER. GO HARD OR GO HOME. ...I'LL GO HOME." It was weird, because it was 8th grade, and it meant big drama to a lot of people. I mean, I was a little surprised and a little upset about it, but it never really phased me too much.
During one of the very last moments of high school, I gave--along with Lauren--our class's commencement speech, which was titled "Go Hard or Go Home," and ended with that line. It was a good speech, got a lot of applause and a lot of handshakes afterward, and after I'd just finished giving it, I walked back to my seat, past Josh. Laughing, he gave me a kind of five/hand-shake, and we had a moment (albeit very brief) in which we both just recognized each other.
Last night he drank too much, threw up in bed, and suffocated in his vomit.
The only other names I can place with a death like that are John Bonham and Jimi Hendrix. But I've never really thought of those deaths as having been from asphyxiation due to alcohol-induced vomiting; those deaths have always been at the hand of Rock'N'Roll--Rock'N'Roll killed those two. I've disguised what happened to them, and gave them something bigger than themselves to die for... or die by, that is.
But Josh didn't die by anything mythological like Rock'N'Roll. He just died after having a Saturday night out with some of his friends. He died from having a good time.
And the world won't stop tomorrow to recognize his death. In fact, classes start at 8:00 in the morning.
I'm just...
I'm fucking shocked. And I'm really sad. And I don't know what to say. What do you say?
"Somebody gave me this telephone... I think it was Edie... yeah, it was Edie.... And she said I could talk to God with it, but uh... I don't have anything to say.... So here... this is for you.... Now you can talk to God."
-Andy Warhol, giving a golden telephone to Jim Morrison