So many people have posted so many beautiful things about Keris. I wish I could write like that.
I posted some thunks on death a while back, which of course have come back to haunt me. Talis (or Tanis, as the bozoes at SFX magazine would have it--hey, at least they mentioned her) talked about having a sense of him standing by the sound desk while she sang "Jack Hare" in his honour, and I'm quite sure he was there, because Talis doesn't make up that kind of stuff. But I know I'll never have a sense of him that way. I can construct a very wobbly image in my mind, hear a staticky echo of his voice even though I can't make out the words, but that's my imagination, nothing more. I choose to believe that the soul goes on after death (and that this applies at very least to cats as well) but it's one of those beliefs for which I have only hearsay evidence from people I trust.
We used to argue on LJ. Quite a lot. I think he enjoyed it. I didn't--he had a take-no-prisoners style of debate that had me on the ropes and gasping far too often--but he never took offence, and I think I'm learning not to, thanks at least in part to him. And we never argued when we met face to face; there was too much else to do that was more worthwhile. There was a scary side to him too, witnessed on at least one occasion by Jan when trying to confirm a van hire to drive to Germany, but he had it under control. I imagine he would have made a fearsome fighter if the need had arisen.
The unfairness of it still hurts, though of course it's stupid to expect fairness from the universe--that's our job. I don't suppose I'll ever know the details of what actually happened on that Thursday afternoon, and it doesn't really matter who was at fault or why. The point is not his not being there now, but his having been there, the fact that we had him among us for a time, and he made everything he touched better.
He was in so many ways an example of how to be a good person. He never published a best seller, or recorded a platinum album, or changed the world in a big flashy way, but still if I could die knowing I had done as much good as he did I could die content. (I haven't. So not yet.)
I choose to believe that he will hear the songs I will write, even if he can no longer provide the insightful and constructive comments that helped make the new Filk Of Human Kindness as good as it is. I hope he'll like them, and I hope he'll be patient with my missteps.
"A keenly talented musician and sound man," said
telynor. Yes, I'd go with that. A keenly talented musician, and a thoroughly sound man. And I like to imagine him laughing at that, but it's true.
I posted some thunks on death a while back, which of course have come back to haunt me. Talis (or Tanis, as the bozoes at SFX magazine would have it--hey, at least they mentioned her) talked about having a sense of him standing by the sound desk while she sang "Jack Hare" in his honour, and I'm quite sure he was there, because Talis doesn't make up that kind of stuff. But I know I'll never have a sense of him that way. I can construct a very wobbly image in my mind, hear a staticky echo of his voice even though I can't make out the words, but that's my imagination, nothing more. I choose to believe that the soul goes on after death (and that this applies at very least to cats as well) but it's one of those beliefs for which I have only hearsay evidence from people I trust.
We used to argue on LJ. Quite a lot. I think he enjoyed it. I didn't--he had a take-no-prisoners style of debate that had me on the ropes and gasping far too often--but he never took offence, and I think I'm learning not to, thanks at least in part to him. And we never argued when we met face to face; there was too much else to do that was more worthwhile. There was a scary side to him too, witnessed on at least one occasion by Jan when trying to confirm a van hire to drive to Germany, but he had it under control. I imagine he would have made a fearsome fighter if the need had arisen.
The unfairness of it still hurts, though of course it's stupid to expect fairness from the universe--that's our job. I don't suppose I'll ever know the details of what actually happened on that Thursday afternoon, and it doesn't really matter who was at fault or why. The point is not his not being there now, but his having been there, the fact that we had him among us for a time, and he made everything he touched better.
He was in so many ways an example of how to be a good person. He never published a best seller, or recorded a platinum album, or changed the world in a big flashy way, but still if I could die knowing I had done as much good as he did I could die content. (I haven't. So not yet.)
I choose to believe that he will hear the songs I will write, even if he can no longer provide the insightful and constructive comments that helped make the new Filk Of Human Kindness as good as it is. I hope he'll like them, and I hope he'll be patient with my missteps.
"A keenly talented musician and sound man," said
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