On death and dying

On death and dying-I used to replace your pages in my library. That seems like a million years ago.


Some people have a gift with words, they know just what to say in any given situation. They can write beautiful touching memorials on your facebook wall, lovely things remembering you and how you danced, your joy, that you're missed but now around us. I can't write crap like that. For some, I'm sure it helps; for me, rambling on this blog about how much I miss you, it wouldn't.

You were someone with a wholely unique voice, and you had a way with words that put me in awe. I'm so happy that I knew you. It's weird to be so happy and devasted simultaneously.

Wish I had the magic of your words or I knew what to say, wish I wasn't writing this on my phone, but suppose it's fitting considering I found out about your passing via facebook. Mostly wishing I wasn't trying to write something about you not being in the world.

I don't have the words, all I can say is you impacted how I look at things and view the world, and you did it by just being you. That's fucking amazing. Especially since we never lived in the same town and didn't know too much about the other except that you were instantly my friend, and one I knew I had for life.
Although I feel cheated of adventures I knew we wouldve had, I'm so glad we had the ones we did. Roadtripping in the melting heat to Tom Waits, running in monsoon style rain in LA (god that was barely a month ago) and all the other things we shouldn't have had, yet did.
Thanks for being a kindred spirit and making me see silverfish whenever I see cattle.

I miss you geoff and I'm thrilled that your words live on, http://geoffjohnsonlives.webs.com/

bastards of young

i was listening to pandora radio, the replacements station, and matchbox twenty came on and i almost threw my phone at the ground. so pissed, i had gone like 8 years not hearing that band. it was also just pointed out to me that when i just told that pointless anecdote to my friend, that i said matchbooks twenty. oh fuck i hate that dick that sings in the band, what the fucks that fucks name? rob thomas? fuck.

that said, reading "killing yourself to live" and just read about chuck klosterman's visit to the apartment bob stinson was found dead in.

i want to go on a road trip. instead i will be flying to reno for one day only, to see the lovely cassie on her 25th bday. she's the one that turned me on to the replacements to begin with.

see a theme here?

to quote repoman, "its like when you're thinking about plate of shrimp, and someone says plate or shrimp or plate of shrimp"