Saturday, May 22, 2010

Funeral for a Friend

Yeah, that's right. Just like the title says, you're going to listen to a little Elton John (only a little--you can take it) and you're going to like it. Or at least keep quiet for the few short seconds it takes to play.

I guess I could have just linked to the entire Big Chill soundtrack, but that feels even more cliqued.

So in no particular order, rhyme, or reason, here are a few other things to hear. Because, sometimes, things have no rhyme or reason.

Not entirely spot on, but it keeps coming into my head, perhaps because I saw the video as part of a public theatrical presentation of a bunch of videos and earlier Athens, GA Inside Out when it came out umpteen years ago:

Because said friend has a flair for the theatrical:

Again, due to theatrics and also locale:

And, finally, because I want it at my own funeral, and I am just talking to myself here, anyway:

"O gracious light.... Now that we come to the setting of the sun..."

Not that I'm all weepy here. In fact, somewhat alarmingly far from it. I think I've shed maybe 2 tears. I don't know if it's just that I'm an unfeeling bitch/automaton. Or that I'm in shock that somebody I knew could actually, essentially systematically, purposefully, and somewhat slowly kill themselves. Or that, as the family has said (and this is a fairly close, loving family--so can't suggest they are automatons) that they already said their goodbyes more than 6 months ago and now it's more a relief and final acts to be played out--and that their lack of widespread weeping is interfering with my own grief/empathy triggers (hell, I cry along to the TV all the time).

Or other reasons. Who knows.

It's made me run; it's made me write; it's made me play music; it's made me cover myself in dirt and dog hair and cat pee (helping clean the house). But it hasn't made me cry (I can't cry anymore??? oh, geez, and now I've got Frank Zappa in my head, too).

And so while ironically sipping a drink, I compose this requiem--disjointed and (relatively) dry.


(ok, ps

And I looked and behold, a pale horse
And his name that sat on him was Death.)

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