200 Feet

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Two-hundred feet from the place you put your best friend to death

is a yoga studio, and a coffee shop, and a place that repairs vacuums.

In pet terms, euthanasia isn’t as detrimental as it sounds.

You say “put to sleep” and “eased of his misery” much easier than you might say

“terminal cancer that left his jaw agape, unable to eat food or function on his own.”

It’s these reasons, and that much more, which will force you to come closer than 200-feet from the place where he left this earth,

to leave flowers and apologize yet again on the first anniversary of his death.

I Realize We’re Both Having A Bad Hair Day, But You Don’t’ Get To Meet Mark Kozelek Every Day Of The Week

“What’s the weather like in San Francisco,” my mother asked. I was at United Gate 82 in San Francisco International Airport, waiting to board a plane back to Los Angeles.

“It’s cloudy and rainy, it will be warmer in LA,” I assured my mother. It was 1 in the afternoon, 4 her time. “Mom, we’re about to board, I need to get off the phone,” I said.

Pleasantries exchanged, goodbyes said, I put my coffee down on the ledge next to the moving sidewalk adjacent to our gate. And there he was, walking with his head down, acoustic guitar case at his side. I recognized him immediately as Mark Kozelek, the principal singer/songwriter for the Red House Painters/Sun Kil Moon and his own solo ventures. At time, I had cried along to his pains, but mostly, I has just dwelled in the melancholy he had created, interpreting it as my own for too long a time. He wrote records, I listened, internalized and learned to go on because of them. Continue reading I Realize We’re Both Having A Bad Hair Day, But You Don’t’ Get To Meet Mark Kozelek Every Day Of The Week