I understand that death a part of being alive, and that bereavement serves a way to push one's understanding of people and emotions. But this is taking the piss.
It's horrible, to have come home only for a childhood friend to be killed the same night. The day after - being told that David, my brother's dad, has weeks to live. Both of these people were massive parts of my childhood and it honestly feels like I've completely lost what I had until i finished primary school. My brother, my friends, Heather (my mother figure) and now David - the only person who believed in my art and understood the things I wanted to communicate or do for the world. When I was younger I truly believed that art was the only way in which people can confirm their true existence (art being a blanket term for any form of expression), and the creativity is such a raw, honest conveying of being. David thought this, too, and together we used to talk about Jim Morrison who, to this day, I still believe is the most beautiful example of artistic autonomy. That part of my life will from now on be repressed memories or exist only in the mourning of people I have lost.
