… neglecting again, I know, but look, I’ve been absolutely lambasted with work and home and the move and setup that something had to give. I’ll be back on it soon, I swear.

But today is my Grandmother’s 80th birthday. I remember talking to her about it last year because there had been a big surprise party for her 79th and we were thinking about what kind of shindig we could rock for the big 8-0. When she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, we knew deep down she wouldn’t make it this far, but she came damned close.

We’d promised that we’d celebrate her birthday together but necessity trumped all. We’ll be heading down to celebrate her life during Thanksgiving.

I can’t write much more about it right now, but soon. She was such an amazing woman, there’s no way to begin, really.

But anyway.

Happy Birthday, Granny. You are so amazing and loved and beautiful and divine. I miss you every day.

I don’t know…

I have a lot of conflicting views on this. All of them make sense by themselves, but they don’t seem to mesh. I can’t think that my level of cynicism has grown so voluminous as to block out logic and love, but some days – like today – it just seems… overwhelming.

I’m pissed. At a lot of things. Myself. Him. His friends. The people around him. The satellites who orbited from afar, trying desperately to crash into the surface to see what kinds of treasures they could uncover for themselves; never mind the craters it left behind.

Kevin is going to die soon. If he doesn’t, he’ll be a shell of the person we know.

Like it or not, here’s the truth:

As long as I’ve known Kevin he’s been the center of an emotional maelstrom that spiraled so out of control that to stop the momentum would have been more detrimental than allowing it to rage and rage and rage until there was nothing left.

I saw a guy so overwhelmed with a lack of confidence that he has (almost) literally killed himself trying to be someone that people would continue to love. I have no idea who he was prior to ten years ago, but I saw in him the doppelganger that had the disposable income to make those most fervent desires a reality. You pay for bottle service. You throw parties. You become so emotionally involved in maintaining an unsustainable image that you’re able to forget what was at the core. You do it on purpose.

I believe that he has a small group of amazing people that love him unconditionally. But beyond that handful there’s a god damned clusterfuck of people who scrambled and scraped and enabled behavior that let them into ‘the inner circle’ like it was a popularity contest. If I help clean up the nachos maybe I’ll get free tickets to X-Sanguin. If press my tits up against his back, maybe he’ll invite me back to the after-party. Oh, sorry I fucked up your kitchen, puked in your hot tub and shit on your lawn. I gotta go. I’m sorry I don’t like you in that way.  Really.  Sorry.

I think people saw insecurity and exploited it. I think even now some mourn the death of the lifestyle, not the person. Call bullshit, sure, but the fact is that if the people around him truly cared, truly wanted to see him happy and healthy, they’d have sat him down and done something about it. Including me. So I’m just as much to blame as everyone else.

Now we get to look squarely in the mirror and wonder what’s next. I got to walk out of the MICU this afternoon and Kevin didn’t. How does that guilt settle? What does it feed? Positive momentum or negative behavior?

I’ve done absolutely jack and shit for myself and my health for years. I’ve been out of work for nine months and managed to gain weight. My self-esteem and confidence is at an all time low; so low, in fact, that the things I’m best at – music and writing – are shells of what they once were. I told Ivonne last night that if I don’t do something now – a big fucking something – the only thing left to erode will be us. I don’t mind rebuilding the rest of me, but that’s a foundation I can’t lose. Not if I want to survive.

I’m just sad. And disappointed. In all of us.

_____

I wrote this the day after my birthday, a few days before Kevin passed away.

I will concede that I may have been wrong – that my perception was not the whole of the reality – but science only affords us so many outs before we realize that within a finite universe, only the perception remains true.

Even now, we don’t want to admit or speak the unspoken, and Kevin’s death remains a cataclysm to all but a warning to none.  Or most.

Let me put it to you this way:  What did we do to celebrate his life?  To celebrate a man taken far too soon by a lifestyle that every one of us supported, encouraged, begged for and enabled?   We partied. We got loaded and wept.  We walked through the diorama of his life – the pale shadow that was cardboard cutouts and old promotional flyers and seething, writhing, undeniable guilt - and wept.  Because we knew better.  Because we knew this was fucking wrong.  Wrong.  Because we shouldn’t be doing this.  And everyone, on some level – conscious or not –  knew it.

What happened afterward was an even bigger clusterfuck.  The politics after Kevin’s death was undeniably sad.  Who got what.  What went where.  Who did this or that and made sure they got the credit.  Who was the best friend.  Who was the new leader… my god?  Who’s taking on the Mantle?

I was wearing the Zombie Defense Network t-shirt one night at a restaurant.  Someone I didn’t know came up to me and said, “Hey, I hope it’s not inappropriate, but what happened to Kevin?” Personally, I thought it was cool that someone I didn’t know knew enough of who he was and what he was about to recognize the symbol and ask.  Until the next question out of his mouth was, “So is there going to be another X-Sanguin?”

____

I have undeniable, harboring resentment toward the entire scenario that surrounded his death. From the people that made it a final gathering of the Cool Kids Table to those of us who could have taken him aside and said, “As your friend, It’s time we did something”, but didn’t.  If we have the ability to feel like we could have done better, we should.

Three things, though, I need to say.

1.  I will readily admit that I underestimated and misjudged TJ.  From the beginning, that guy was on point and did shit that nobody wanted to start, let alone finish.  Mad respect.

2.  (Edited.  Thanks to a friend, I’ve been reminded that things are not always what they seem, and we all have to appreciate there are two sides to every story.  Out of respect, I’ll keep my opinions to myself with the caveat that if we can’t change our minds, do we really have one?)

3.  His mother is one of the most gracious, loving, and special people I’ve ever had the honor to know.  My only regret is that we hadn’t met sooner, under better circumstances.

____

I still see pictures of him and recoil at the thought that I can’t call him up and drop into a shitty cholo accent. I haven’t removed his number from my phone, for that matter.  That’s not happening.

I miss that guy, man.  He was truly one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known.  Heartfelt, loving, caring, kind, genuine – above all genuine – and accepting.  We gravitated toward him because he knew how to make you feel like you were the only one he cared about, even in a house full of hundreds. Those kinds of things are rare in the world, and rarely do we cherish them the way we should.

But yes, I’m still angry.

I won’t always be, though.  And that’s a start.

I just miss my friend.

____

So Kevin.

Vaya con Dios, El Guapo.  We miss you terribly.  I’m sorry for what we didn’t do, just as much as I’m sorry for what we did.  But you will always be loved.

To me, you live amongst the Clacks Towers.  If ever there was a soul that would find its way into Digitalus and watch from within, it would be you.

Thank you for being.

Big love.

j