State of Affairs

Hey Tim,

I don’t quite remember exactly when your funeral was, but it feels like it’s been a long time. Longer than I knew you even. I know it’s only been a few years, but time does strange things to the mind. I suppose you’re still dead because that’s how bodies work (for all that we know), and that blows. I miss your brand of BS. Smoking hand rolled cigs in your backyard. Listening to The Doors on that blown out speaker that smelled like stale beer after it heated up from a couple of songs. Watching the bees have inaudible conversations while you told me about Sigrin and just how love struck you were. How is she by the way? Still got that prison hubby she won’t leave? If I really think about it she’s probably in the same place you are. Probably still married to that jail house guy while toying with your bones and messing with your skull. She always did have a way of getting into your head. You have made it significantly harder for her though now that you’re six feet under. I guess that means you win.

So, above ground, things are still weird. Remember, that time we talked about Donald Trump firing Obama? Well he did, and then just took his job. When the polls were coming in I just had to laugh. Now it’s sheer chaos: we were rooting for this porn star to give all the dirt on their love affair; the first lady always seems to find herself in culturally unaware attire; and every year they wage war on another “dangerous” population. I feel for his family members that aren’t really in the political game. His wife looks like she’s catching the Stockholm syndrome, and his littlest kid just looks lost. Did you see Green Inferno? There’s a scene in there where some guy is just getting eviscerated by a pack of blood thirsty cannibals. They’re really going to town on the guy and you can tell he’s still alive because he just won’t sit still or stop screaming about it. Anyway, the camera pans over to a wooden cage where his friends are just hanging out and one woman has this look like she’s left her body and is waiting for the mercy of a swift death. His son has the same look she did. Matter of fact every picture of them could be used as evidence of kidnapping. I suppose it’s worth mentioning that Obama did not suffer a bad end, and left his post quietly. Now he’s surfing and hanging out with sad and bearded David Letterman.

Sorry about The Green Inferno spoiler. Yes, some guy gets eaten, but I didn’t give it all away. Other people get eaten too.

What else is new? Oh, so pot is legal now in a few places. I bought some out of a vending machine just so I can say I did it. It was pretty fancy with a giant touch screen so you just rub your greasy fingers all over it to find the pot you want, slap a few buttons, and then “poof” there pot in your hands. I suppose that wouldn’t work for you on account to not having much flesh anymore. One of these days I’ll take you to Lake Merritt and we can chief under a tree and watch people mill about. I love spending my weekends there watching various species of hipsters walk tight ropes, play bongos, and draw on everything with sidewalk chalk. If you close your eyes and listen closely you can hear the faint disgust of privileged youth complaining about the smell of homeless people on their way to a rally. I’ll take you there someday soon. I’ll have to get a permit to exhume your body, and you have to at least wear pants. I know there’s nothing to see, but folks up here are still uncomfortable with public nudity even if it is just your exposed hip bones. Can you even smoke anymore or would it just fall out your ribs? I’ve never smoked with a dead guy before.

On that note I did get out of the military. I’m not just rolling around smoking it up with Uncle Sam. I’ve been a little lost since I got out. I managed to drive out of Alaska, made my way through Canada and Washington. Wandered around Oregon for a few days, then made my way to Vegas. In Vegas I managed to fall into some liminal space that exists between criminality and common sense. I should mention that the Air Force has it on record that I attempted to go AWOL. I know what you’re thinking, but Vegas did seem like my best option at the time. It was either that or go north to the frozen wastes of Alaska and take up residence in a dead whale carcass. Kind of like how Luke Skywalker took a nap in that Tauntaun, except my whale carcass would be much roomier with space enough for a small stove, and a nook to do that Netflix and chill thing while I waited for the statute of limitations to expire on my crimes. Is Netflix and chilling by yourself just masturbation with the TV on? Sounds like just another Tuesday in the whale carcass to me.

I suppose that terminology needs some explaining since Netflix does not deliver to coffins, nor do I believe you to have a stable internet connection. Or eyes. Sometime recently someone decided that “hooking up” was no longer a viable term for having sex, as it did not encompass all the many activities that fucking entailed. Now we Netflix and chill. I’m a little foggy on the details since when this term came about I was in a monogamous relationship. She and I didn’t get to try it out, because we had our own little domestic routine. Our sex was more that of opportunity during the hours that the kid was asleep, and when she and I happened to be in the same room with no one else in it. For other people sex now involves this complex ritual of picking phone apps to get food, picking what appropriated cuisine to eat, discussing previous dates that have gone wrong, all while Netflix finished playing the movie you both heard such good things about and moved on to every season of Frasier. The sex eventually happens during Frasier. According to some the object is to last an entire season of a show, but that just seems apocryphal and dangerous.

Long story short, that woman and I broke up.

I suppose I should mention that I got a divorce right after you died. It’s actually been a few years. I remember thinking that I should call you with the news, but then I remembered that you were going to have a quick operation. Per our last phone conversation, the weird amoeba you picked up from sheep shit decades ago had re-emerged and had been giving you the runs something fierce. There was an air about you those last months though. Most of the time you had that faint whiff of alcohol. You were thin. The spider shaped ear-clasps you wore seemed to shiver against your snow-white stippled hair. You told me you’d call me after the surgery and that you’d be in and out. In and out turned into a few days, so I called to check in but your cell was off. Then your home phone was disconnected. I only saw your obituary because something told me to google your ass. Turned out your ass was dead. Your sister called me the next day to give me the news and invite me to your funeral. Never thought I’d learn of anyone’s passing from The Great Google in the Clouds.

Sometimes it feels like breaking up was the right decision. Sometimes I wonder if she would pick up if I called. You know the feeling. Kind of like the feeling you get when you’d tell me about “Siggy”. What did you see in her anyhow? She was/is a beautiful woman/corpse, but every story you told me about you two was awful. I don’t remember details, but there was usually a gun involved and dare I say a decent amount of (insert intoxicant here)? Maybe that’s what love is? A really awful story you tell your friends while you two share the good in all the chaos.

I think that pretty much brings us up to speed. Don’t be a stranger, man. I know you’re dead, but haunt a brother every once in a while. It gets lonely up here. People are strange. Yes, we are too, but I get your weird. It was safe and welcoming and really fucking bizarre in the most delicious way. I still hear you read poems on occasion. Your voice comes up in the middle of whatever I’m listening to and I pause and think about you. You should consider coming to visit sometime. Planes still fly from Alaska to the rest of the world, so it wouldn’t be an astronomical task to get your bones on a jet and come down here. If not I’ll be seeing you up (down?) there man. Someday. I’m not staying with you though. Your new place is cramped.

Love,

Jordan