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February 3, 2012
The eulogies at your funeral suck, LJ. I'm disheartened that from all these people in the creative circles in which you'd traveled, not one of them is doing your flamboyance much justice. Although some try, they fail. Your brother is particularly somnolent. Two of your sisters leave me dry-eyed, and one of them manages a tug at my heart but not much more. Your son is as flat as a cracker. I swear I feel you by my side, whispering to me in your raspy voice, "Jesus fucking Christ, for this I died?" and disguise my laugh behind a cough.