NOTE: I wrote this November 10th, the day Marcus passed away. I haven’t been on the internet so I am posting it now and I still feel everything I wrote.
Lost another soldier. A soldier of angelic visions and pain. A true warrior of lost souls finding his way. As many times he wandered off the path of enlightenment he always came back to share the sometimes soutrageous yes spiritual paths he found.
Marcus died today. My muse. My confidant. My hero. My friend.
A friend of almost 20 years. As best as he could be. Good enough for me. We became each other despite our extreme differences.
Never have I experienced a friendship that transcended reality like the one I had with Marcus. Marcus Shepherd. A million private jokes. A million laughs. A million cries. A million trips outside and inside ourselves discovering, discussing and over analyzing emotions, theories, thoughts and the world surrounding our soft child like yet genius brains.
He was the only friend that knew everything about me and actually understood me. Missing him is an understatement at this point. At any point. In and out of my life at times as friendships do yet always in thoughts and prayers.
I met him in March 1992 and knew there was something special there. I never dreamed we’d play in bands together, live together and become so close. I couldn’t imagine that this tall skinny guy in eyeliner with long full black hair that wears frilly shirts and leather pants would become my inspiration turning me on to writers I never heard of like Jean Genet, punk bands like Television and even foreign films like Goddard. A new world sparked from this unusual friendship.
His visions, which I once thought were bullshit, unfolded in front of me. Light and dark. We talked of these things. We talked for hours about the here and now as well. Our emotions and desires. Exposing each deep secret we’ve ever had through the years.
We hung out at coffee shops in our 30s like 2 art school kids to meet artists and people to inspire us especially the girls. Then we discussed our love for them. The women. The art girls. Frantically, desperately seeking our soul mates from any hot young artist girl.
I helped him discover that he was just as superficial at times as the rest of us the way he brought the artist and serious poet out in me.
I could go on and on and I probably will about stories and adventures of the man I call friend and mean it. Keep reading. As much as I miss him, I know he is part of me and will stay here.