Michael Keaveney died at 2AM this morning. He leaves behind a body and a persona known as "guy". His death was the end of a long and unsucessfull battle with faulty wiring, paranoia, and expectations. He'd never been quite right. Always confused and scared as he lay awake. Wondering why no one was ever ever ever there. Phantoms of himself arose to point and prod at every mistake he's ever made. Many, many phantoms. Meanwhile, Ann Coulter pukes up her dinner. Meanwhile, Bush sleeps soundly. Meanwhile, someone's really dieing, never to see the rising of this sun. Meanwhile, the bar across the way dance to stupidly loud dance music and inhale death.
All this time, he couldn't chase away what he's done. His beliefs, his hopes, his faith in humanity and the goodness/unselfishness of people died. He was 19 years old. He leaves behind a shell named guy, who continues on to work a 9-5 and never hope or dream or trust again.
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