Wednesday, 29 October 2008


Today is the anniversary of the death of a friend. She died a decade or so ago of an AIDS-related illness and I think of her most days. When she died, she handed me the title of world's most sarcastic person: that's not the only thing she could out-do me at, but for her, sarcasm was the most sublime expression of art and a savage joy. I mourn, I remember, but there are some things I don't do:
  • I don't wistfully hope she still exists in some non-corporeal form
  • I don't expect to meet her in heaven or in hell
  • I can't imagine that she'll speak to me in a darkened room full of idiots holding hands
  • I rather doubt that she will guide me in my decisions from the spiritual plane.
She's dead. She's gone. She has rotted. The only thing left of her is the memories she left and the ways she BARGED into people's lives and changed them. Hardly ever for the better, but mysteriously welcome all the same.

So, my friend, I miss you, but you are dead. I'll remember you as long as I live and that sort of thing is the extent to which you remain alive. And the only extent. I'll try to keep you alive for as long as I can shock people by telling them about your behaviour and your attitude.

Also, I never got to pay you back for some of the *madness* you put me through, you crazy bitch.

No comments: