Lost Boy Goes Home

I can’t even write about people dying anymore. It became too frequent and overwhelming. I can’t deal with it. I can’t analyze it. I can’t justify it. I can’t comprehend it.

Tired of being mad at upstairs for taking just about everyone that circumscribed my childhood, tired of being reminded of my own mortality, just altogether tired.

Exhausted.

I don’t want to discuss his drug use and the fact that he brought it on himself, tired of that too. But what I will say is the world we live in at the moment, the society is so unbelievably cruel --- drugs, alcohol, pills, and so on have become crutches some people use to get through the freaking day.

I’m not judging.

I’m not thinking.

I’m not even here.

Sorrow.

I’ll never forget his face, and even though sad, I’m fucking proud of my generation and its idols. I thank heaven every day for being this age and not living in a world where Montags, Kardashians, and Hiltons mattered.

Idols of my time might all be fucked up, drugged up, and faded, but at least they were all talented, great, decent human beings who had a sensitive heart and cared deeply about their art, for the time they have spent on this earth. And if having a heart, empathy, and awareness about this world was their ultimate ending, so be it.

Better to be like that than to be today's “star” who would sell their mother for a piece of undeserving fame.

However fucked up we might be, we're about the last generation that was legitimately cool.

And coolness can't be bought.

Rest in peace, Rollerboy.

We’ll never forget the hair!