When you're away, as dislocated from home as I am -- with little news coming back to me really from Toronto via emails or telephone calls or Facebook posts (it would be too costly and time consuming when you're trying to deal with the people and circumstances in your hear and now, and I don't really have the time to return many emails either... I have a hard enough time posting blog entries) -- you spend a lot of time wondering what all your friends and loved ones are up to. And you try to balance the person you are while on the road and in new cities and climates with the person you where when surrounded by high-density urban boxes, with all their marvelous nighttime colours. I think most of all I dream about how my life will be when I return. Because there is absolutely no way of knowing. Somethings never change. And then, some things will never be the same. Some things just regenerate or explode or blossom or... commit suicide.
I just had this urge to hop on Facebook around midnight this morning and check out what some of my friends from Toronto have been up to. I stumbled upon a Facebook group called In Memory of Micheal J. Sinclair. My heart skipped a beat. I thought it might be a joke, and I saw his profile page showed no new activity. But when I read the text on the page that said Michael had committed suicide recently, I just somehow instantly KNEW that it wasn't a joke at all. And I've been in shock ever since. I cried as I stayed up the rest of the night and watched RENT for the first time in my life (this'll be the night to watch it I had thought to myself earlier). The movie/musical is about a bunch of young urban bohemian characters who ride the line so close to the edge, while struggling with artistic vision, emotional baggage, and creative independence. And so many of the images ring so true. The inner-city silence can be a deep and hard one. And I know a lot of kids that'll back me up on that -- especially in Toronto.
It's funny how well you can come to like someone even if you haven't known them for long. I was busy as hell and he was working all the time too last year. But I definitely remember jamming out with the dude a few times as he came and crashed at our downtown Chinatown pad in Toronto last year a whole bunch. He was just a fucking awesome guy to have around. He was never an asshole, was a great musician, was quiet but pretty hilarious and was always adding that little extra, you know -- like making our small little apartment feel like a home. He was the type of guy who you could count on if he said he'd be there. I mean he was super cynical and everything -- but I've come to expect that from anyone who's lived in Toronto for more than a couple years. And had kind of this inner goth that I never really saw come out too much. But I never expected this. As it turns out, he hung himself about a month ago.
I remember the last time I chilled out with him -- it was at Pierre's show at the Cameron House. This was the first time that the new roommate that was taking my place, James, came to a show with a bunch of us that had been at the place previously (Me, Casey, Pierre and his roommate, for example), so I remember the night pretty well. I remember Michael had stopped by our house to jam with Casey I think, but no one was there. I recall being just outside the side of that bar that has the giant ants and the murals all over it, telling him he should come check out the show. He said he would, and I believed him. I saw some people blazing outside. And he showed up a few minutes later. The band bought us beers because we helped promote the concert. I remember what seemed to be a funny middle-aged gay man take forever to ask us for beers, and then way overcharge us for the pitcher. Someone passed out right there, and I can't remember if it was Casey or Michael -- but that's just how soothing Benhur is, I guess.
And it's funny for me to think that the guy I knew that reminded me most of Matthew Good (Michael had a similar sense of humour even kind of looked like him) and the band that sounds like Matthew Good the most to me (Benhur has a ton of similarities to Matt Good's music, you can't deny it Pierre) were in the same room at the same time for that moment. This is one moment that will never take place again.
So I didn't fall asleep until after my alarm had already gone off. But I passed out of an hour and had to spend $20 bucks on a taxi to try to make it to work for 6:30 a.m. to make burgers. And I kept falling asleep in the mists of the early morning burger freezers. I've never seen the plant in such a fog as that. Wearing my white smock, I crouched down and disappeared, except for my orange hardhard. It was the hardest I've ever had to struggle there so far. If I stood still for more than 5 seconds I would start falling asleep or dreaming. And the lines were down a lot, which means the burger stampers or something were broken, and so standing around was the only thing to really do. I had to sneak off to the bathroom once and I hid in the materials room for a bit, and I kept switching the job I was doing on the line --anything to keep me sort of awake. Three times I almost told the supervisor I was going home. But somehow I made it to break -- and immediately downed as much coffee as I could afford from the vending machine. Things went pretty smoothly after that.
But strange thing is that today -- the day I found out that Michael J. Sinclair killed himself -- is also his birthday. Holy fuck. Happy birthday bro. You're radder than shit and always will be.
The worst part is, I didn't even have the chance to learn you loved waves this much.
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