stone against skin
On Monday night, September 21st, David Case, known better in many quarters as Eriond, died.
He was a good friend, and nothing I can say would be an epitaph suitable to his personality, which was as sarcastically witty as they come.
He was 19.
And, damnit, i didn't get a chance to tell him before he died that I'm working with someone who once worked with one of his favorite bands, GWAR.
"David Case. Just had to prove that there wasn't an afterlife."
A Paraphrased Elegy
David E. Case is dead, alas
—Spatch
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
—W. H. Auden
damn, Scooter. why does this shit happen to the best people?
September 23rd: stop all the clocks
Let's all queue up and kick God's ass
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring on the coffin, let the mourners come.
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public droves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought love would last forever: I was wrong.
Pack up the moons and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.