Time and emotion, and the sway between the two and how they bend our perception. That has been hovering about my mind, among so much else. So much otherwise that seems so obvious to anyone who knows me, and I suppose, that must include you, dear reader.

At the moment, I seem to be fending off anger, my default emotion when I cannot seem to deal otherwise. The rage, the fight- that this will inside my soul can combat reality. I know, at least mostly, that it cannot. Certain deeds cannot be undone. And on top of whatever possibility resides within the actions of the near yesteryear, there is also my adamant refusal of certain aspects and how they lack accordance with whatever ideal I have dreamt up and refuse to let die.

If I were to be truthful, which I always aim to be, whatever that means, I’ll tell you- I am far more strung out that I am willing to admit. I’ve been burning candles from ends that I hadn’t even known existed. That this light within me, instead of dying, seems to burn in a chaotic all-encompassing edge towards destruction, just in the hope that the flash and bang might make something beautiful, even if for some unnoticeable moment. Maybe I am angry as some inherited disposition to deflect whatever it is that actually might be occurring emotionally, and so on. But so often, perhaps detrimentally, I choose anger instead of sadness. Something that I am sure is just wonderful for my cardiac health.

I had few days of ignorance. Blowing out my voice in the town of General Sherman’s last stop of destruction in the name of benevolence- I ignored so much for a few dozen hours and allowed myself to exist in the moments of absurdity of the holiday socially associated with some long dead Saint. One that personally, even now, I associated with idealistic cataclysms within and without myself. Sixteen years ago, I fell in love. A year ago, I lost someone more dear than I think I am still unable to comprehend. So anyway, Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Yet, despite all this induced and unintentional distraction- here I am. And there you are. And here we are, somehow, trying to figure out this idea of life. And idea that the most brilliant minds of eons have struggled with and yet produced no concrete answer. So, I’m starting to think, that all this questioning may never get me, or any of us, any closer to a resolution for these woes. But, if you are anything like me, which if you are here reading this, I have to imagine that our personalities at least rhyme- quest onward we always will. Well, at least until this life leaves whatever vessel currently holds the specific sentience we call home.

I told someone, a stranger, essentially, about my optimism. And whatever logic and pragmatism I try and reside within- still, the fool, he always comes through. That despite everything (and in two and half score and change years has been plenty of everything)- that despite everything I still hold on to hope. That I still believe that through something as minuscule as the human will of spirit, greatness and betterment might be gotten. And if I was going to give up on being a fool, it certainly would have happened by now. If not after all the falls and stops and stumbles of my younger years, surely it would have been squashed out a year ago. And yet, she persists.

And after a few hundred words of fury, the weakness sets in. Maybe it is the whistle from the record playing in the other room, the second best whistle I’ve ever heard. Maybe it is all the meaningful hugs I’ve had in the last few days, feeling, regrettably, that they will never be the hug I miss so much. And that for all my world swaying and saving and holding my covert narcissism schemes for myself- that when it mattered most, I didn’t do enough to save someone that meant more than whole worlds to me.

Sorry, we’re not there yet, though. Still just working my way out of anger. And through the many various colored drinks that a lovely bartender made up on the spot to try on me. You know, ever the fool, ever the sucker. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a big heart. Hard to believe, seeing how I am such a tough guy.

I could speak of the world, but mayhap that would only serve to further stoke my righteous indignation. Or provoke the sadness I’ve been dodging and deferring to some other space and time. And I don’t know that I have enough answers to give enough value to anyone out there seeking, drenched in questions. On the matter, I’ll say this, applicable both to political environments and personal alike- the more certain someone is of their answers, the fuller of shit they are likely to be. As has happened so often throughout the conscious history of this species- to say that you don’t know is a high tier level of bravery. It takes a coward to say that they know for certain.

I would know, being a coward myself, often when it counts.

Spent near a thousand words, all to avoid what it is that I am actually thinking, this evening. Better get on with it. Day’s a wasting. Soon it won’t be Monday anymore. Soon, this month, and year, and life- it will all pass me by. And you too, believe it or not.

I sat in this chair, in front of these keys, some three hundred and sixty some odd days ago, and wrote something optimistic. It has never seen the light of day since. I got a phone call from someone that I wasn’t speaking to at the time, and received news that devastated this person I call home. One who had already been through loss and grief and tragedy, or at least witnessed it so many times.

I suppose it all boils down to life. And death. And what each of those means to ourselves and to the others we accumulate along the way. And I suppose, the only guarantee of life is death. And between the dates that our tombstones hold, is all the existence we will ever know.

But, anyway, today a year ago, was my friend’s last day within this mortal plane. And hindsight has given me all sorts of guilt, which I will only have to keep learning to live with. Because whatever I could have done, none of that is what I did do. And while I miss him so absolutely, my friend, that beautiful soul- he is gone. All several stone of him, all of that benevolent beast that I loved so dearly, just like any of us could be- he was incinerated down and put into a box. And surround by his worldly possessions and loved ones- we worshipped at the solemn memory of who was and is none gone from us.

I still talk to him, my dead friend. Every day. And I know that as far as habits go, that isn’t the healthiest. Bu what scares me more than my diluted ideologies, is the harsh cynicism that I am getting used to this life without him. That I have kept on living while he could not. That I fight for what he believed in, and hold myself to the standards that my friend believed for me. And that he believed in me. As I believed in him, even if he never did.

I don’t know what I expected when I sat down here tonight. I don’t know what you expected when you started to read this. Maybe you expected an insight that my egotism claims myself capable of- but not tonight. This evening, I write what I can because I have convinced myself that it is something that must be done. But not a single word of this brings him back to me. And the sickening part, is that I am growing used to this life without him. And that all the memorials and idol worship, only further proves to serve that anger I try and withhold. That very same anger that if he were here, he would tell me not to hold.

But he isn’t here. And he hasn’t been. And he will never be again. And my gratitude forces me to cherish the moments that I did have. And my greed will always make me wish for more. A fool’s wish, if for nothing else, because it can never be.

But he was a fool, like me, I know. I just wish I could still talk to him, to hug him, to love him. But it is all just memory now, and the guilt. And within all my talking to this ghost, somehow, I still strive to be the person he believed I could be. But maybe that is just that narcissism again.

I won’t be reading any of this back, so forgive the abundant grammatical mistakes. Or don’t, I don’t care. Maybe next week will be better, but we aren’t there yet.

For now, I’ll say good evening. And know, that all this distraction of week most recently past is about to fade away. And I will face it all- the horror, the love, the insecurities and uncertainties. Face it, I will, this life- even if I must keep doing so without my favorite guy.

But there’s plenty of time for all that. After all, I have the rest of my life to miss my friend that I loved so much. What’s the rush, right?