Love Son


Jason Allen Smith



11 August 1979- 13 May 2009


“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.”
-The Crow

Update 3-August-2009
It’s almost his birthday. It still hurts a whole lot, like every time I think I’ve truly healed, I feel his frozen stone lips on mine and I’m ripped right open again.=(

26-September-2009
you get reminded by every little thing and it’s heavy and songs play and you cry and colours make it worse and smells and pictures resurrect the pin needle pierce into this vicarious voodoo, baby doll, scribbled my crayola heart– waxy melting stop motion feel for affliction. burberry cologne your old mobile phone, bikes, ink, street names, sega games. why’d you cheat me of yourself cousin? was i not the purest love? if it wasn’t grade A, you still knew my devotion. you left and now you don’t have me, was that destiny? that fine day in may–labeled 13–lucky. fuck it. the irony is null in contrast to the reality that hurts so much i cant bother with bullshit like superstition and minute details on that who financed what and who last saw you shit. fuck it. you signed the deed to your demise. and she cried and he cried and we all cried. but in the end you died. that’s it, cousin. you died. i’d like to lie. but your girls are fatherless. and i am cousinless. and your mother is sonless, loveless, addicted. to not just your memory but to you in every sense or your self. her suffering is what built the taj mahal. if she could she would. she can’t let you go. and neither can i. our grief extends past earth bounds, grips the sky, tears at the moon and extinguishes starlight. sometimes i just don’t want anyone to enjoy the night. cause if im hurting, then they should be too. they should help me mourn and drape the world in black and suffer. how selfish. but my pain is like a plague- spreading without bias or sympathy except for itself. O cousin, i am the rat infected! will i attack 1/3 of providence’s population? miserable wretch, what have i become? what have i done? o cousin, open your grave and let me lie with you! i am not fit for a world you do not inhabit. untie these life strings and let me drop down, rag doll dead, beside you. i want to be over. over it. simply. deported. from this land. of the living. i am only an alien here. fuck. you wouldn’t like this. i don’t like this. it’s just hard to keep the dark out. sorry. i will rethink.

17-December-2009
Tonight I walked alone and searched somewhere in the atmosphere for your hand to protect but I could find nothing. And when I thought I felt something grip my fingers, I spun to find your living corpse around every corner and your stone body and cold pale lips painting them selves harsh and nightmarishly abstract in my corneas. And that chest of yours, the horror of that chest of yours. Ripped in a jagged Y from the autopsy, the residual explosion of your heart kept bursting and raining bloody beating veins and arteries just footsteps behind me round every turn and outlook, there you stood, staring, staring. You must have beckoned.

23-December-2009
Won’t you end this charade, quit playing dead, call back in the corridors of unbelievable hurt. Jay, I see your girls, but all I see in them is you. My love for you is a vile of distilled amaranth. My love for you is kept in my skeletal heart, an everlasting shrine to your soul and my wishing.

15-February-2010
You will never be forgotten.

4-May-2010
One year is creeping up on us. 9 days left till impact. Everything feels like it's crumbling sometimes, it's so hard seeing young people like you on motorcycles,  I keep thinking that they'll take off their helmets and it will be my cousin, mouthing my name. I keep thinking you'll come back and hold my head under running water, like I was Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. I keep thinking you'll pick me up from high school and go with me to buy an ipod. I keep thinking that we'll go on long drives to see dogs in the middle of nowhere. I keep thinking that you'll hit me up and I'll get to see you, even if only for a split second. Your voice, your red coloured hair, the way you brushed it. Your daughters. I'm trying to push on though, keep loving you, loving you, loving you.

13-October-2010
It feels like my tear ducts have been slacking like the levy is dry and drought consumes me, the lack of water becomes every day life. I have a barren heart. I haven't cried for you in what feels like eons. Yet I keep on loving you, missing you, but from a different place. It's much more subtle, a place where mourning happens in darkened cafes in Paris where I am anonymous and the slew of seventeen months happens to everybody. Is this healing? Is this the great therapeutic drought? I worked on your birthday but late at night, I wandered, lost among the dead in the dark, to your grave to give to flowers and my letter. Did you read it? I miss you. I love you.

19-December-2010
There are things that stir up your memory and they look to start a fight with me, to get me going and make me cry over you. Sometimes they win. But other times they don't.

12-January-2011
The process of getting over it and moving on and being OK takes forever but nostalgia takes just a few seconds to tear all that progress up and abandons you with nothing but that love and fervor and heartache that you thought was over, but was too beautiful in this way or that to throw out. I recall myself wandering the streets near your mother's house just crying, making things worse for everybody. I had lost myself in that kingdom of mourning, which had conquered me completely and forced its systems upon me. You can dig your own grave asking why something happened, or move on by accepting the fact that it did. As someone else put it "You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, would've happened... or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on." Because shit is going to happen and you are going to hurt, and bleed and wish you were fucking dead. Being able to progress and move forward, and become better, smarter, more loving, more understanding, because of all the suffering, now that's the real light at the end of the tunnel. That's what I'm looking for. Maybe you're looking too. 

1 July 2011
Miles and miles away from home is where I couldn't stop thinking about you...

8 August 2011
Your birthday. Fuck your early grave we could've been pouring glasses and sipping Henny today. But the only thing I'll be pouring is tears and bitterness is what I'll be sipping, on another beautiful sunny day that mocks my heartache just like it did the day of your funeral. I miss you. You are my heart. Forever. Always.

12 April 2012
They say this year, the world ends. But don't they know that it already has? What's in a world empty of you, your love your laugh? Why do they pretend that anything exists? How come I am the only one that knows of the the destruction, the silence and absence? They must all be ghosts. They don't know what's passed. But I know. Because you  speak to me from the other side. Am I dead too? Sometimes I struggle to hear a heartbeat, you know.  But I don't cry when I can't find the pulse. I just wander a little bit closer to where you wait. How many years will I have to meet you? I hope not too many; I don't think I can  stand all the years in between your death and mine. I ache for you.
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