Wave of Mutliation

[tajmahalic]

It is a distant memory -- a past life occasionally reverberating dark sounds among the scarred walls of my skull from a place deep and haunted, an organic and murky disruption of static that crackles with jarring reminders of a person I have not been for many, many years.

I spent last week in Mexico, though my mind was elsewhere.
Mystery caller

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[tajmahalic]

There was something yesterday -- "not a wake, not a mass, not a memorial service, but rather something we feel Jeremy would have been comfortable with: an informal gathering of friends telling stories and sharing memories together." It was strange to see his daughter (from what I can gather, she's been in foster care with family friends for some time) so grown up, and it was especially strange to see so many people from that era of my life again. It almost doesn't feel like it was a part of my life, but rather was some past life that I can only vaguely recall. After we sat around and told stories for awhile, we realized how amazing it is that more of us hadn't walked into some unspeakable tragedy. It's unreal to think what an average night was for us back then. And it's even more incredible to think how many of us were able to shake lose from such a self-destructive culture.

I suppose I maybe regret not having seen or spoken to Jeremy for the past seven or eight years (his girlfriend was shocked to see me), but I think it helps give me some distance from the situation, which in turn helps me remember Jeremy as a crazy kid with nothing to lose rather than some aging fuck-up dealing with the reality of adulthood and responsibility. From what I heard yesterday, he spent some time after his son was born studying to get his GED and was holding down a steady job. It's hard to think what would possess him to get drunk and wander along train tracks ... but knowing Jeremy, it's nothing unusual. Trying to live a normal life -- now that would have been difficult.