so high and right.

he said they usually pull high and right.
my head goes numb.
he has been one of the most important figures in my life for a very long time. we met when i was fourteen in evanston- all he said was "do you write?". my outstanding response was "you mean like pen pals?". and so a friendship was born. it was steeped heavily in aerosol fumes and cutting holes in the fence at cta fix grounds in skokie. alot of boosting. at least one night or two for trespassing and vandalism of government property. one or two fanzines about friends we hated. a band or two. a single show in my parents basement. a gun, the only one id ever know, with no "bodies" on it. a dog. a tattoo in washington dc. and an eventual and untimely split. he forced me to look at the world differently. to find subversion where there seemed to be none. to see humanity in people many wouldnt consider human. to see art everywhere.
years later we crossed paths again. only now he speaks in hushed tones of the jungle of burma where he take photographs. he says if they pull the trigger you go low and left because they dont know how to use an assault rifle and usually pull high and right. he speaks of thinking he was poisoned as he fled another impoverished country in south east asia. i am again forced to rethink how i see the world. it is almost as he is meant to force the little good that is left in me. to steal my reason and remix how i think of the world.
thanks for being that friend.