Memorial day. I don’t really care what it means to anyone other than me. What it means to me is remembering someone who is no longer with us. We are all influenced by someone… that one person who made us who we are.
My mentor died.
I didn’t go to his wake. I didn’t do a lot of things he would have wanted me to do.
I’m not good enough to show him respect in front of all the people who were a part of HIS life. If I were to tell HIS friends and family about how much he meant to me doesn’t really matter. But I know damn well that the second I tried to do that… the focus would be on ME.
He did that. My confidence and the ability to tell you to fuck off is because of HIM. The music I listen to is because of HIM. The reason I smoke is because of HIM. He taught me how the world worked when I was a 14-year old kid. He was my best friend and taught me that I shouldn’t tell his new girlfriend (who he ultimately married and is the mother of his children) that… [insert a stupid as hell comment here].
Michael Grenley died.
I’m not good enough to be a part of his life or death.
But he made me who I am today.
The fact that I don’t think I am good enough to lick the bottom of his shoes is me… the fact that I can tell everyone else that they aren’t worthy of getting soft-serve shit served out of my asshole is ME.
But may Warlock Bones rest in peace.