Five years ago this week, the young Rimbaud on the right hung himself in a prison cell in Texas. In addition to being one of the greatest poets I've ever read, he was a dreadfully close friend. So close that when I got sick of his junkie bullshit, I smugly put an end to our friendship. I say smugly, as I did it with a smug attitude, but really, I just couldn't bear watching by best friend kill himself.
We kept in touch only sporadically over the next eight years. Like a jerk, I didn't want a junkie jailbird showing up at my doorstep. When he killed himself only a few months away from completing his sentence, I realized that I had never stopped loving him. Now, I'd never have the chance to tell him.
Whenever I read a great book, discover some mind-blowing new music, or watch some old punk rock heroes deliver the goods from a stage, I always wish he was around to dig it. After all, Abe Bacos is the motherfucker who turned me on to the Sex Pistols, The Velvet Underground, Joy Division, The Germs, Patti Smith, Cop Shoot Cop, The Smiths, Crass, Bauhaus, Jack Kerouac, Arthur Rimbaud, Charles Baudelaire, Jim Carroll, and countless others. My life would be rich enough if only his friendship, intelligence, and wit had changed my life, but the musical and literary influences that he had the grace to share with me have largely formed the core of who I am.
Reading a passage from the Italian poet, Pier Paolo Pasolini, tonight, I'm reminded of what an utter shit I was to write him off as easily as I did.
In the ease of love
the wretch feels himself a man,
builds up faith in life,
and ends up despising all who have a different life.
We all lose touch with our friends. As life goes on, it's inevitable. Just don't ever write them out of your life. Don't ever think that you're too hurt or too pissed off to ever talk to them again. As much as you may have good reason to be pissed off at them, you have a better reason to keep in contact with them. Love.
It would be cute to say that this time of year is hard for me, as it's the anniversary of his death, but in truth, its no harder than any other time of year. I think about him every day. I'm very fortunate to have a great deal of close friends, but I dare say that none have come closer to me or have had such an impact as the late Abe Bacos. He haunts me every day. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Sorry about your friend. I Imagine it's hard to know what to do when someone so dear is hellbent on destruction. Sad.
Yeah, the goings on in my head looks something of like a disaster I imagine. Nothing that a flame thrower and saying "hold mah beer" cannot handle.