The driver was drunk and now my friend Omri is gone. I can hardly believe it, I was in the hospital yesterday, I held his hand but he wasn't there any more. He didn't deserve this, nobody does I know but him least of all.. I doubt he was within 50 feet of an argument, ever. violence? it seemed to take a big respectful berth whenever it had to travel anywhere near where he was. He was an impossible combination of country boy and city boy, and he always lived in the future tense. He would be so psychic with me, telepathic even, I would be thinking 'beige' and he would smile at me and say 'beige, right?'
and i listen to his songs (as if I don't know them well enough, I played most of them with him on stage a hundred times) and they all seem to presage something, foreshadow something else. even his own death. full to the brim with symbolism, you still can't escape the feeling this is not a cheap interpretation when he sings
'look at my shoes, they walk without me'
or
'there's a soul there's a body not here but I try not to be here'
or
'that's a shame isn't it, to be fucked up beyond recognition'
or
'is it the family's job
to speak in a very soft voice?
behind my back
they take me to surgery'
I had rehearsal last night with one of the bands I play with, and for the first time in my life I broke a bass string. This never happened before. I hate it when people attach meanings to things like this, but I couldn't escape the overwhelming feeling that we're chained to the world and we're all gonna pull..
Paula and Greg want to cover one of Omri's songs at our Rockwood show on the 15th, hopefully we can have Itamar on the drums - he's his soulmate and best friend here, and he produced all of his songs. I'm so grateful for music, especially the music that he left behind. His identity is welded into it more inextricably than a trapped miner, more deeply than our sorrow over his so suddenly melting away
though we didn't get a chance to play much the past year but I did get one last chance to play a song with him 3 weeks ago. i feel like i got to say goodbye, in a way
and i listen to his songs (as if I don't know them well enough, I played most of them with him on stage a hundred times) and they all seem to presage something, foreshadow something else. even his own death. full to the brim with symbolism, you still can't escape the feeling this is not a cheap interpretation when he sings
'look at my shoes, they walk without me'
or
'there's a soul there's a body not here but I try not to be here'
or
'that's a shame isn't it, to be fucked up beyond recognition'
or
'is it the family's job
to speak in a very soft voice?
behind my back
they take me to surgery'
I had rehearsal last night with one of the bands I play with, and for the first time in my life I broke a bass string. This never happened before. I hate it when people attach meanings to things like this, but I couldn't escape the overwhelming feeling that we're chained to the world and we're all gonna pull..
Paula and Greg want to cover one of Omri's songs at our Rockwood show on the 15th, hopefully we can have Itamar on the drums - he's his soulmate and best friend here, and he produced all of his songs. I'm so grateful for music, especially the music that he left behind. His identity is welded into it more inextricably than a trapped miner, more deeply than our sorrow over his so suddenly melting away
though we didn't get a chance to play much the past year but I did get one last chance to play a song with him 3 weeks ago. i feel like i got to say goodbye, in a way
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