I found out that a friend of mine from high-school died. It's been five months since we graduated. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to Maine. And now he's gone.
I don't want any comments about your sympathies. I couldn't fish for that. I understand; how could you read this and not feel sympathetic? I'm merely trying to figure it out and get work done at the same time. After all, death is a gothic theme; and while my relationship with him was not as close as Willow's and Xander's to Buffy, but I wouldn't hesitate to pull him out of Heaven back onto this Hellish earth, knowing full well what I've done.
I hope you don't think I'm being callous for doing this. I'm crying while I type this. Blurring the lines between my life and personal emotions and my schoolwork. I suppose that's the beauty of a blog; and slightly gothic, too. I might not even post this. But I don't know if it would be more callous to write the blogpost I was planning on without mentioning Martin. I'm going to be thinking about him for the rest of the day. Writing does help me cope with things. I can't pretend nothing has happened, and I can't not write this blog post. Or, I could, but....
I'm going to go blow my nose and wash my face now. And then leave the library.
I do wonder how this will change my relationship to the Gothic.
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Years ago, Martin and I made a Gothic/Adventure Film Parody. I was the Chosen One, of course, fighting Mustached Vampires in an old abandoned castle. The work was more heavily influenced by fighting films—the director (another friend) was a big fan of Terentino and the Matrix—but it was not without Gothic influence. You can watch it here, if you want a 20 minute time-waster. Look out for a dead seal. (It's not the highest production value, but you should be used to that after our group projects...).
As I said, I can't avoid Martin's death. And as much as my knee-jerk reaction is to hide under my covers for a month, I can't avoid living my life either, including writing this blog post. So I can only do both at once, in the most sincere and respectful way I know how.
I wasn't super close to Martin, but he was a friend, not an acquaintance. I would be shocked if anyone from my high school died, but there are only a handful I would cry for. It's made worse by the fact that, as I was frequently annoyed by Martin, I wouldn't make an effort to spend time with him. I hardly saw him senior year. That doesn't mean I liked him any less: one of the times we ran into each other in the hall, we had an awkward hug. I miss him.
I'd guess I'm not the only person in this class who has lost a friend our age. I'm sure Janelle has. It's different than losing older relatives, or even a pet. I knew I'd outlive my cat, I knew he had cancer. I cried. And life goes on.
I've never been good at imagining death. And so now it hits me very hard that Martin is just the first. All my friends will die. I don't want to cry for them too.
And so to Gothic literature. It's not much of a leap for me; I love Buffy, and am a fan of the Gothic style. Even if I wasn't taking this class, I might go watch a Buffy episode to cheer myself up—though I'd be thinking about Mustached Vampires the whole time. These authors we read must have all had friends who died. Yet they through in death so casually. Do they forget how it feels? Certainly not.
I can't say I truly know how it feels. It's only been two hours. It hasn't really adjusted to my life yet.
I think death in Gothic literature is related to the reason why Whedon has everyone sing. We can be overblown about it. And by being so blatant, we can be trivial and light about it. We can throw in some humor in our other-wise serious Gothic novel, and legitimately laugh about it.
Writing doesn't just help me cope, it's the only thing I can do right now, sitting as I wait to go home Saturday and praying I won't be too late for the funeral. And still hoping the whole thing is some hoax, a joke blown horribly out of proportion, before the good old crew could bring in the crowd control, with me standing at the side, watching and laughing. Like it used to be. I miss them all.
Gothic. Singing. Perhaps it's like that with some Gothic authors. A way to cope; not just with death, but with fears, with transformations in society.
What crazy things did we get up to? I can't even think of them now. What stories can I tell about Martin? He battled in the local hardware store (I sort of cleaned up after him). We jumped off bridges into the ocean. I fucking set him up with his first girlfriend. He wasn't a big fan of society himself, or rather, he was open to showing how crazy it could be by being even crazier. We were in Amnesty International together. We never got anything done.
I've decided one of the worst things that can happen is having a friend die, without knowing if he (or she) knows that you'll be thinking of him (her). Martin and I didn't talk as much as we used to senior year: I was busy with mostly AP classes, and their homework, and Martin and I didn't even have the same lunch periods. We talked maybe once after graduation. Five months ago. He used to annoy me, as I said, by being the epitome of a pretentious hipster silently judging without even meaning to or trying. And I never got to make it clear, not recently, what a profound impact he had on my life, or how often I think of him. I showed Mustache Story to my dorm.
I pride myself on being the kind of guy who grows up to be the crazy "uncle" of his best friends' kids. As much beef as I gave Martin, I would have wanted him, or expected him, to be the crazy uncle of my kids, if I ever have any. He'd be better than any Van Helsing.
The Gothic contains a blend of romance and death. They seem to be pretty similar things. When you're in love, when you first come to acknowledge that there's a special person in your life, so many little things remind you of that person. When someone you loves dies—it's the same thing.
Where do we go from here?
I had planned on tying this episode in to "Tabula Rasa" and exploring where the Buffy cast goes from here—to a blank slate rather than dealing—and then to dealing. But after I checked facebook, I ask the question, instead of answering it. And I mostly failed at relating this to the gothic, but you may have your own ideas about it all. (And I'm aware, that even though this was an interesting idea to explore, I could have done it better, if I waited a while and edited it, for example—and that you'll protest that I'm being too humble, that it doesn't need to be better explored—but that won't make it any less true, and I don't care. What I mean by that—there's so much more analysis that can be done. About the Gothic. About Singing. About Death. But I'm exhausted and can't think too deeply anymore, and I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions, and I don't care—even though I'd love to, for my own sanity, draw up everything in a neat, tidy end, like Dracula. Damn, if I was actually trying to write this, it could be pretty good.)
Where do we go, from here?
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I'm not planning on this being my last post. I've wanted, for a while now, to do a "What is Steampunk and how does it relate to Gothic?" piece, as the resident expert. I think it would interest y'all, and be very relevant to the class. At the rate things are going, it might be a while... and I might never get to it. But I'd like to think I will.
The only thing I'd request from you, is that you don't comment unless you actually have something to say or add, something which has nothing to do with me. I hate imposing myself on others and their feelings, and I've clearly done that if I've gone ahead and posted this anyway. I also hate telling people that I hate imposing myself, because it feels fake, like I'm trying to make myself feel better or more humble—I'm saying I hate it, but clearly I'm doing it. I can't throw my life on a pedestal for the purpose of exploring something like the Gothic's relation to death in front of the whole world and still be humble. It's not a humble thing to do, to show my feelings so publicly. It has nothing to do with humility.
Why does death bring us together? Why can't we be together before? Why don't we know how important it is to keep our community close until times like these? Because then we are conflicted: we want to be together, but we feel bad. Why the fuck does death bring communities together?
Time is weird. I can't edit this right now, there's no truth in anything I can think about it anymore, and while it does end rather messily, I've read it over and it's okay. And it's a blog. ...for those of you that have read, thank you. Also for Janelle, thank you for giving me this outlet, even if I did abuse it a little.
