blaspheming the dead

greg called me last night and left a voice message. "this is greg. i know you're in virginia, but there is something i need to tell you. call me as soon as you get this message." the voice was somber and lacking greg's normal ebullient revolutionary tone. it was one of those messages that you knew meant bad news. it was one of those messages that left you wondering who was dead.

"lawrence died over the weekend in a motorcycle accident."

since hearing these words last night, i've been trying to figure out the best way to eulogize him. i realized tonight that i'd do it how he'd want it done - irreverant, honest, sarcastic, and potentially offensive.

lawrence was several things. most of all, lawrence was an ass. specifically, an asshole. he was occasionally full of shit and you could count on him to let one out and offend everyone in the room. whether it was about the size of his penis or his exuberant chauvinism, lawrence always had something to say that would bring out laughter in anyone, no matter how wrong or offensive it might be.

when i first heard how he had died, it made sense. in a sick and twisted way, i thought to myself: of course. he died the way he lived. lawrence was reckless. it's who he was. had it been colon cancer or a battle with the west nile virus, it wouldn't have been lawrence's death. it wouldn't have rang true to his story.

i first met lawrence a few years ago in my philosophy of religion class. i was a newbie to philosophy and i didn't know him much then. he disappeared from the class with a few weeks left. the next semester he was in my deductive logic class. he disappeared from that class as well. i've had several more classes with him since then, and to be honest, i don't know if i've ever seen him finish a class. he's explained to me several times how he's managed to stay on top of things nonetheless and edge ever close to graduating, but i still couldn't figure it out.

somebody once threw up on lawrence's bike. the same bike that got him killed. it was during a party with a bunch of drunken philosophers, professors, and students. the next week lawrence came into class irrate. "does anyone know who the fuck puked on my bike?!?" these words were mixed with a sarcastic anger and fervently twisted side of jest that only lawrence could pull off. we all laughed.

this is all just a bunch of rambling. i don't know if you could really talk about lawrence without rambling. as i write this, different memories flash across my mind. his open reading of george bataille's story of the eye at a phi sigma tau gathering. the quick glances over his shoulders before telling his karen mizell story. his love of drinking. his love of women... or was that his love of sex. humorous and embellished stories. behind all of this though was a lawrence that you couldn't describe or put into words. as i try to write this i realize more and more how impossible it is to adequately describe him. more than just a person, more than just a friend, lawrence was an experience. he defied description and was far bigger than any box someone could put him in.

his absence hasn't hit me yet. it probably won't until class begins in a week and i realize that there is something missing. if he hasn't completely ceased to exist and is looking down from heaven [or more likely grinning from hell], i hope he realizes how many lives he has affected. . . even if it is just this one.