"Many people die at twenty five and aren’t buried until they are seventy five."
Benjamin Franklin (via s-stevens)
(Source: quote-book)
Reblogged from s-stevens with 12,779 notes
D.O.A.S.
The play is opening tonight.
I’m already tired.
Hype is exhausting.
Energy directed at the space around the stars is enough to make me want to stay grounded, forever.
Here’s to quality family moments.
rainy day conversations
“I’m so glad I don’t have to live my life worrying about getting into Heaven.” - My non denominational friend Allegra Crowther
ends.
i just feel like writing for a bit. a friend of mine passed away on thursday and since then i have felt everything there is to feel, i think. i mourned with booze and boys and isolation and friends and food, mostly in unhealthy amounts. i feel like my head is full of sandy water, every move i make makes my vision more murky. his death wasn’t unexpected and he wasn’t young but he was really a very special man. i know most everyone feels that way about at least one person in their lives, so it’s hard really to communicate why this feels different, and maybe that’s because it’s not. but it always feels unique to you, when you’re the one going through it. it’s interesting that you can be prepared for death and maybe even have a positive outlook on what death means, which here in the western part of the world isn’t that common. so much money and effort goes into running from death - i wouldn’t be the first to point out our youth obsessed culture. but it leaks into this fear of being old and dying, when there is nothing that can be done about it. it’s part of life and without death there would be no life. without old age there would be no value in being young, and vice versa. life support and cancer treatments sometimes only buy a dying person a few weeks and sometimes months, and yet they’re options for us. as if anything really great could come of a week, when that week is the ultimate - save for a last minute cure for the murderous ailment, of course. but how often does that happen?
many cultures celebrate death as part of life, and thus place more emphasis on the living part of the equation, instead of avoiding the end. when a person dies, those left behind are there to remember the person and all the great things they did and even in the moment after the life is over the focus and attention is on the way the person lived his/her life. i think that’s a really beautiful and pleasant way to deal with something that is really so sad - loss and change is always difficult. it’s as though one person dying reminds us all what we’re here to do, and why relationships and true connections and special people and experiences are really important. and yet, even though i’ve been trying for a long time now to accept death as part of life, and i knew for months my friend jon was dying, and i heard from him days before he died and knew that it was a matter of hours before he would be gone, it’s so fucking hard. it makes me want to take each day and hold it in my hands and slam my foot on the brakes and scream at everyone to slow down. it makes me want to take each minute i have left and put them in a bank and let them sit there a while. and then i could decide where to invest them, and be able to spend them where i see most efficient. i want to choose which ones i want to spend, and where i should give them away, and who has the fewest left that i need to let them spend their minutes with me. i want to get as much out of everyone’s minutes as i possibly can and then i get sad and angry because i know it can’t be done. i get sad and angry that i didnt write down everything that jon ever told me because he was a brilliant man and so wise and had so much to offer the world and now he’s gone and it’s too late, i can’t go back and ask him again, he has no more minutes left to spend anywhere. i want to just take an entire day again at his place, helping him with the dishes and listening to art tatum and watch his eyes light up at the prospect of being the first to show me his favorite jazz album of all time, and loving the music he’d share. to hear him explain to me that he didn’t have cancer really, that he wasn’t dying, but he just had a virus and that he promised he wasn’t going anywhere. and even though i knew it wasnt true i felt comforted and stopped crying, and believed it, even momentarily. i turn now to other comforting things, like knowing that i am who i am today in part because of what he afforded me with his limitless capacity for dignity and taste. and that i was loved, and that he knows i loved him, and that he took that with him, wherever he is now. though im not sure comforted is the right word, because it’s only temporary. the way a shot of whiskey is comforting, these thoughts momentarily alleviate the sadness. i guess, all we can do is take it from here.
Mohandas Gandhi: Dear Customer who stuck up for his little brother,
you thought I didn’t really notice. But I did. I wanted to high-five you.
Yesterday I had a pair of brothers in my store. One was maybe between 15-17. He was a wrestler at the local high school. Kind of tall, stocky and handsome. He had a younger brother, who was maybe about…
(Source: sweetupndown9)
Reblogged from mohandasgandhi with 34,783 notes
new year’s ressies
1. Procrastinate less.
2. Write something long-form once a month.
3. No hangovers this year. (New Year’s Day is a freebie).
4. Workout 3 times a week (add one workout per week).
5. Call friends and family on the phone instead of sending them emails telling them I’m thinking of them.
6. Finish my play.
7. Read a book a month.
8. Slow down.
do-able, yes?
**
