Closing time 2: Calling Marek

Marek, where are you? Rageboy/Kat/Chris is busy readying the next platform. From a room far away in a land called hospice, he sleeps and dreams a new space for us, one where we hyperlink just by loving each other, no clicks; it’s all in the eyes. A flip of the heart takes you anywhere you want to go. You’ll see. He’s taking us there. Next stop on the cluetrain — all aboard, motherfuckers. 

Also he’s leaving. I didn’t want to tell you this way. I can’t find you on the bookface. No matter where I look. So I had to come here. Back to where we all started, to tell you. He’s going. He’s ok. Selene is there and Jesse and Lauren, they are there. And I sent chocolate pastry and iced espresso and a cookie through grub hub. I think the nurses ate the sweets. Which is okay. And Margaret and I sent some garland and a holiday rug for his room. They hung it beneath the TV because he likes to yell at Fox News when Tucker Carlson comes on — and Hannity whom he calls “Monkey Man!” 

🆙 

And over on Kat’s FB page there is the most joyous disorganized poetry underway where some think he’s just taken a fall and wishing him a speedy recovery and others have read down the thread far enough to know he’s not going back to Tantra Lake. He’s going home-home. Contact us. The place where all FAQs are finally answered. Maybe it’s beta for now. But he’ll get it all set up. Michael O’Connor Clarke got a head start on it, so I’m thinking it’s all polka dots and ribbon candy. If you see this, check out the 148-and-counting comment-poem under Jesse’s post about Kat’s recent fall. It’s like he stitched it together himself.   

🆙 

But still I have to tell you: He’s leaving us. We inherit his heart and his words and his laugh and a belly full of righteous indignation. His spirit of not settling. Never letting up. But there? On the next platform he rests. Network complete. Wired and wireless. Where everything remote is right in your face. And I don’t think he would mind me live blogging this for you, because there is no other way to tell you. No other place for us to meet. I had to come here. 

🆙 

I hope you see this, dear Marek, and have time to sit quietly or run through the streets screaming like you’re being slashed by the tooth fairy, or like it’s the running of the bulls, and what is chasing you, what is chasing all of us: is loss. A loss so profound it will make our souls bleed. And a presence so complete it will make our heads explode. And all of that at once — but mostly the tears come. 

Where did all the meaning go? Why does he have to leave? Am I a selfish, helpless child or a Viking warrior princess? 

Where do I go next? Are these tears or is my heart weeping blood? I need you to tell me. 

🆙