eulogy

time to die, every day, till every morning to be reborn, to rise like a phoenix, make the bed, wash the face, hit the keyboard, till that one day, when you really die and you don't wake up and you remain in dreamtime, without time and watch the living spout flames off the tops of their heads with each baby sunrise, round and round we go. 

speak each day to all our unliving ancestors, they're everywhere and nowhere at all. 

larry ruhf, was always the other twin to peter, for me. until i moved to massachusetts at 18. i knew at the get-go like the rest of the ruhe men, larry could be trusted. ruhe men were a haven because i was hot-cakes, the beginning of the new generation, where cecile was the end of sally's. 

larry always stopped by to see chris, and doug, for hugs, for dish, for reflection, for measurement. and i so appreciate it. men loving men, being supportive, clowning it up, owning the stage. the neat guys.

cousin having is a sibblinghood, a vast network of genetic disorganization for optimal health through unity. so going through life and having my mind and heart changed by the changing times, knowing my uncles were good guys, with great hearts was my psychic armor when living and adapting to other people's uncles. i was always able to speak to old guys, any and all, and i learned about the goodness of men, and their evil, safe from harm.

larry tried to run-away to paradise. i didn't have the heart to tell him it would fail miserably. it was the most gung-ho i ever saw him. and since then, the times we shared felt like defeat, and by defeat, the reward of such divine creativity, amazing painting, pure offline joy. 

larry always spoke to me of love, and the women he loved so bad and so dearly, about how concerned he felt about being a burden to anyone, an echo of something doug had said, and chris, and even davido, for that matter. 

where is our power in life beyond the words spoken on our behalf in death?

he ain't heavy, he's my brother.