Friday, March 04, 2005

The Fine Art Of Self Destruction

My brother died on Tuesday… Pretty dark subject I know, but I think talking about it can only help. I was 10 years old when I wrote what I think was the first poem I ever wrote down, that is, I got the words out of my head & put them on to paper… Don’t panic, I’m not going to get all emotional and write some soppy poem about all my grief, it’s just that that first poem was called ‘My Brother’. I don’t even have those words any more, & I can’t remember them. Basically, he was 11 years older than me, he was a builder by trade but also an artist in all the work that he produced... he didn't just build, he created things with feeling and passion. He loved motorbikes (he rode a Harley & a Ducati) & fine clothes. If you ever see me wearing any decent clothes then they’ll be what he gave to me. He was very generous. He didn’t like much Rock’n’Roll beyond Rod Stewart but he did understand the importance of Rock’n’Roll in my life enough to drive out to Nottingham’s Rock City at 2am in the morning just to pick me & my friends up from our first proper Ramones show when we were all too young to drive (and too young to be at Rock City!).

There are too many great lines from poems & songs to choose just one to sum up the way I feel… So all I’d like to say is, “you are always in my thoughts & my heart with love, John Alexander Smith XXXXX”

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