click here for Darrell's Facebook Page

I've been having these imperfect thoughts about imperfection. My friend Buck just passed on. He wanted to go, so I guess that's fine. His lot was lousy (Job had an easier lot). Physical pain, psychosocial pain beyond the toilet bowl, along with problems too mundane, problems too private to get into here. Not surprisingly, Buck was not your average guy. Left behind a lot of friend who now see (even more clearly) just how special.
      My house is full of things he made for me, and they're all a little bit wonkey: but they work. Like Buck. His body super problematic and, I guess, with all the pain, it didn't work well, and came to a stop at forty four.
      Unsatisfactory, the Buddhists say of life: Dukkha, variously translated as unsatisfactory or suffering.
      So let's rejoice: how deep, how clever was my brother Buck. How much karma he burned for all of us.
      Buck, buck, a son of bad luck, got his wish and is gone.

So the imperfect thought is a contemplation of Buck's pain and failing, faults and how transcendent his sad life was. A beacon to the satisfactoriness of the imperfect.
      Buck and perfection: go on, make me laugh!

you'd show up at my front door. Was it a month, 2 months, half a year? who knows and who cared. you were here and then you were gone. the loss of you has been sudden yet I'm so used to the random call, you suddenly showing up at the door full of stories, travel and in need of a good meal. you were always trying to reinvent yourself yet the pain never let you reach what we all saw as great potential. may this new journey be 'light' in all the meanings that this word conjures. your potential is now possible supported only by your great spirit - not hindered anymore. love you man!

Michael Goldman

heavy stilted words
for me and my friend
twisted metal words
like clumsy faux gargoyles

oh a few people celebrate us
we've a few fans
me despite my sulky sorrow
he despite his sulky anguish and rage
we didn't rage the good night
we stumbled to bed and the grave

would you like a monument?
or you just laughing
pretending to laugh
at me
what tchew leave us?
Dee my boy
the more than several souls you comforted
oh and mine so thickly
these good seeds you sewed
oh and they'll grow
let's hope the grow
though I grow weary
and Gab's unfit
this time
this time…

next time round we'll all blossom
you'll see
and here
the tears return
for you?
for me.

7/8/11

... I met Darrell through his adoption of Lupo, a dog I went to pick up in my brand new car (got a couple of days before) in the middle of a snowstorm after receiving a call from the rescue group I volunteer for, telling me he could not handle being in the kennel he was put in after his rescue. When I finally found my way to the kennel, a few hours later, they brought me a very smelly, dirty, skin and bone, scared dog. And somehow, my heart felt for him, I loved that dog.

Did I mention we got lost in the middle of the storm on our way back? Or that Lupo actually baptized my brand new car in the meantime?
You've got to love that dog!

Usually I would wait a couple of days before giving a bath to a dog so he knows me a little bit and has a chance to trust me. But, in Lupo's case, the smell was strong enough to peel the paint off the walls! With the help of a friend, Liz, we got through a bath experience none of us will ever forget! Then, we realized Lupo was actually quite white indeed...

... and also that Lupo had a compulsive habit of licking his private's parts like no other dog have done before! He was amazingly flexible, I would say. Incredebly creative. Could have written the Kama Sutra or might have reinvented it for dogs... Will we ever be able to get him off this non-stop habit? We figure that if we keep him busy enough we might have a chance to get him off his self-centered habit. Got to love that dog!

As time went by, Lupo added some pounds on his bones, became more confident and abandoned his not to appealing habit. Liz took him for a while so there will be less dogs in the househod. Then Oloff started walking him, bringing him everywhere and eventually at a friend's place where Lupo met Darrell...

and Darrell really, really loved this dog!!!

Picture both of
you together Darrell, always
cd

Leslie Darnell has written Darrell a long letter in memorium on facebook. Below is a sample...

... "Much too young, cut short just when you had found some creative happiness at this time in life. Not a religious but a spiritual man, not attached to earthly possessions but definitely attached still to his dog." ...

to read the whole letter click here...

some kind of sadness crept over the hill
Dee, they trashed him as a baby
the crazies
alcoholic mother, demeaning father,
a sadistic elder brother embedded
needles in his feet
and when the family finished
whooping him
the world whipped him too
and wasn't Mother Nature unkind
in public and private ways
pain ago-go

the the then the last years
my "brother" started to stutter

he was a clever man
as smart a soul as ever I've known
with the exception of being
unable to take care for himself
for the most part
ah but that's not a poem
that's just a moan
and didn't the days run on

everywhere in my house
there are things Dee did for me
or gave me
so much indeed
I always miss a bunch
if I give the tour

so many people Darrell touched
were touched quite deeply

I remember
after his last haul back from the coast
Buck raving waving
a giant umbrella
in the storming park
yelling at the sky
begging to die

later he complained
"my social worker
doesn't understand
the difference
between wanting to die
and suicide"

now he's gone
and there are tears in my eyes
as I think of his pain

didn't the days run

an Leslie has written
a wonderful poem

"... let me tell you
About my brother ...
Within his prickly shell..."

(click here to read
this wonderful tribute)

Norman Allan

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