Flame On

That anger stage that Kubler-Ross speaks of? Oh baby, I am rock solid in the midst of that! Honest ta fuck, how much bleedin’ loss am I supposed to fucking put up with? Hmmmmmmmm?

Let’s start with the old ear death because, ya see, this effects everything else.

The auditory system going belly up means that, for the last 11 years of my beautiful man's life, I haven't been able to hear his gorgeous, resonant, deep, midnight jazz DJ purr of a voice. FYI – that’s molto fucked up. It also means that now, when I’m at my lowest, I can’t fucking listen to music – the balm of balms, the most sure fire way to restore my soul/recharge my grossly depleted center.

For Hope Buechler who gave up the ghost two weeks before The Amazing Bob, I’d find solace in English Country Dance tunes – Jack's Maggot, Sun Assembly, John Tallis' Canon, Hudson Barn, Easter Morn and more.

Simmons Lessell, my neuro-ophthalmologist, shuffled off this mortal coil on May 9th. When did I find out? Shortly after TAB croaked, ‘natch. For him I’d play Copeland – Appalachian Spring, Rodeo and, of course, Fanfare for the Common Man.

Back in 2010, Ojemann, or as Daddy always referred to him “God,” took the last train for the coast.  He was my trusted brain minder, surgeon and a father figure too. I’m surprised to realize that I don’t know what his fave music was. I’ll go with Bach Cantatas.

Sean Carl Vigle – he was just 52 in 2013 when death not so kindly stopped for him. Though we hadn’t been in touch for a few years (and he lived far away) we were the sort of chums who could pick up again as though no time had passed at all. Death accomplished what distance couldn’t. For Sean, a drummer, I’ll listen to Concussion Ensemble.

And let’s not forget my first bestie, Kevin Alexander Scott who checked out in 1991. We were only 32, fer fuck’s sake! For Kevin I’d cue up Blondie, Pat Benatar and Paula Abdul’s Straight Up. He introduced me to the song and vid when it came out in 1988. I was bowled over. Smitten. None of her other tunes did anything for me but this, THIS one, always got me.

How much of this permanent sleep shit am I supposed to carry? It’s pissing me off royal. BIG TIME!

Also too, as TAB asked in his 2002 poem, how do I redefine myself? Who am I without TAB, without Kevin, Sean, Doc O, Lessell and Hope?