Should I eat the other Snickers in the frig?
Never met you, but I wish we had worked together.
Your original wrapper was black leather. I’d like to think mine is flannel, but it’s probably more like chicken feathers.
You were the original Rock 'n' Roll Animal.
The one Andy wanted to score and maybe he did when you were in need of something more than grotesque guidance or ripped to shreds inspiration.
I’ll never forget the Charlie Rose interview with you, Laurie and her dog. I was so moved by how you spoke of your working relationship with Drella. It made sense to me like so little else does.
We spin like a top or fizzle out like an egg cream. Either way we can fight the riptide as much as we like, but when our time is up there’s no arguing with the umpire.
You seemed able to withstand anything including electroshock therapy and whatever demons hunted you down and fucked you in the mouth when you were blonde and heroin was just another means to tempt fate and leave a young, but battered and weathered corpse in your stead.
The joke was on you as the Sword of Damocles hung above your head toward the end and the fog of wars fought underground became one more Coney Island memory.
I wanted you to hit me with a flower just one time but that was simply not to be.
It’s truly vicious how we never say what we feel. Thank God you never suffered from that sickness and always told it exactly how it is no matter the fallout or shit storm that followed.
I want to slip away. I want to “take the blue mask down from my face” and look you squarely in the eye without hesitation. I want to lay with you in a field of poppies and fall asleep like Romeo and Juliette did when they were young and time was still on their side.