(no subject)
I am hoping, really hoping, that no-one else I know will die for a little while.
I got a tattoo today. The crescent moon in the right-side pad is for Matt.
The paw-print itself is for Truth. Wonder. Walking magick.
It's funny, this wolf-print with it's coloring, it's nuanced patterns... patterns that by chance have far more meaning than they would were they intended. Planned. Plotted and worked in.
I intended to have a little wolf-print on my wrist, over my scar. Suffice to say, it didn't work out quite that way and I am well pleased.
How strange is it that I came to the decision to get another tattoo while at the shop on Saturday, and that being the day Matt died? It was funny how I felt so incredibly convinced that I had to schedule an appointment that day, and that this piece is what I had to have. Matt proved to me that magick could be real, that emotion wears wings and moves in melody, that true genius is so hard to find and even harder to hold.
I have known he was going to die, since the day I gave him back his death, but it still comes as a shock. It still rolls my world, this knowledge that I will never see him again. He will never call at three in the morning, drunk and convinced that he has to make me see his truth. I will never sing harmony with his lilting voice, never get to be on his album, never tell him that his songs are amazing, or that he needs to add strings, or that the soprano bit just doesn't work.
They say that it wasn't intentional, that it wasn't suicide, that he had his life under control, that it had something to do with new meds he was on... and I don't know which would be worse. That, or him ending it all, claiming that last escape.
Burn bright, burn always
child of inferno caul,
prophet of forgotten rites
the ocean knows your name.
Namaste
Matthew Brown
10 September 1976 - 31 March 2007
I got a tattoo today. The crescent moon in the right-side pad is for Matt.
The paw-print itself is for Truth. Wonder. Walking magick.
It's funny, this wolf-print with it's coloring, it's nuanced patterns... patterns that by chance have far more meaning than they would were they intended. Planned. Plotted and worked in.
I intended to have a little wolf-print on my wrist, over my scar. Suffice to say, it didn't work out quite that way and I am well pleased.
How strange is it that I came to the decision to get another tattoo while at the shop on Saturday, and that being the day Matt died? It was funny how I felt so incredibly convinced that I had to schedule an appointment that day, and that this piece is what I had to have. Matt proved to me that magick could be real, that emotion wears wings and moves in melody, that true genius is so hard to find and even harder to hold.
I have known he was going to die, since the day I gave him back his death, but it still comes as a shock. It still rolls my world, this knowledge that I will never see him again. He will never call at three in the morning, drunk and convinced that he has to make me see his truth. I will never sing harmony with his lilting voice, never get to be on his album, never tell him that his songs are amazing, or that he needs to add strings, or that the soprano bit just doesn't work.
They say that it wasn't intentional, that it wasn't suicide, that he had his life under control, that it had something to do with new meds he was on... and I don't know which would be worse. That, or him ending it all, claiming that last escape.
Burn bright, burn always
child of inferno caul,
prophet of forgotten rites
the ocean knows your name.
Namaste
Matthew Brown
10 September 1976 - 31 March 2007