For Michael, 2005-2011

Oct 12, 2011 | 07:06am  

Wrestling season will never come.

The October leaves have lost their color.

The tickle well is full.

The smell of camp fire becomes a retching stench.

Joy dies in the Autumn damp.


The buds of spring will bloom again.

The frost that once withered,will melt one crystal at a time.

The darkness that smothered the light,will creep away like a theif in the night.

The flood that drowned the joy,will slow to a trickling stream.

And the lamb of God will smile upon you as you slowly breath in the sweet smells of the spring blooms.

With Love

May your tortured soul be made whole and since there is no way to understand this stupid tragedy, may you soon be washed over with a peace that passes all understanding. I remember singing of such peace as a child. I never really thought about it until now. I don’t know you, but any one who holds his child knows a love like no other. And one who loses a child knows a pain like no other. Many people are praying for your family in this time of sorrow.

I lived with Shane when he at Reed. Shane became our house maagner shortly after I moved into the House of the Angry Goddess’. The Goddess was this painting on the inside of our refrigerator, that a previous resident had painted. During our stay at the house, Shane always had the sharpest new names for the place, and designed invites for our house gatherings with photocopies and cut-ups.I relished wide ranging conversations with Shane while we cooked dinner. Shane was the vegan of the house, and he would cook up kale or chard regularly, always offering to share. Never did develop a taste for sherry, but Shane certainly liked to sip his glass after dinner.Cocteau Twins would be played loudly at home, particularly if Shane had some sweeping to do. Shane was by far the tidiest one in our abode.@Craig Thanks for sharing the Dada’ story it was one of those moments that is hard to forget, and it was a prank of pure Shane inspiration. Shane was always setting up memorable moments with his art, to elicit reactions from those around him. The Dada’ story was but one. It is so nice to see more recent photos and work Shane did, as he clearly developed delightful forms of expression in the places he moved onto from Portland.Shane had this way of listening intently, looking at you unblinkingly, and waiting for you to have your say before responding. Always with a either a charming smile and a laugh, or a rational, logically inspired point of view, Shane was a delight. I loved talking with Shane, whether it was discussing relativity, or learning from him of philosophy or John Waters films.At the time, Shane had a habit of clipping one of his fountain pens to his shirt, at the neck, before he walked on. There are many shots like this, where I think of his manner, and our conversations, and I miss him dearly.

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