It's an unsaid custom to be called by your given name in most cases … well not when Bruce would call me on the phone. Whether it was Preskitt, Wastecoat, Plywheel, Boycott, Pascal, Pisspot, Plywood, Pencil Neck, Prinkle Dink, Pine Tar, Pinecone, and of course to my chagrin, Pressy Baby!! Only my best of best friends would ever have gotten away with this. One thing to his credit, he was the best judge of people as evidenced by all the wonderful turnout in this sanctuary today.
I didn't think I could really make it through the tragedy and sadness of BG's too soon curtain call, as well as the many friends that have assembled here today. We all can speak of the cherished memories that Bruce's life has instilled in us, but what of the moments that lie between the lines, the silences in the frenzied phrasing, the kick just slightly out of time, the micro in the macro, oh yes, he'd throw even the kitchen sink into each and every music bar for it was in between these moments he lived life to the fullest, truly free, a nova amongst the stars. No matter the words that will ever be said, they are but a dim reflection of BG's essence, as reflected in his temporal body that lies here instead.
So animated, so electric, so passionate in his fleeting prime, a flurry of nervous energy erupting, a random chaos in perfect 7/8 time. Always loving more than needed, but seldom trusted what was given in return. His talents, Bruce thought, never made the grade of material wealth he drummed so hard to earn. He became a prisoner of his imagined resentments that caused so much pain deep inside. They were his vanities without substance, for his love was far too big to have ever been compromised.
Bless you buddy, for in silent tears do I pray for God's eternal love to reward your worldly stay. I could not have imagined that your passing away would have ever come so soon, or that your pushy spirit would ever succumb to a deathly dirge in 2/4 time, for I know you Bruce, and only a jump'n shuffle that would rush at every other bar, is the spirit that animated your impassioned beats. Oh please God, just one more time can I hear Bruce say, “Hey Pressy, what are you doin' for lunch, let's eat, have a smoke, and play and play and play”?
Love you Bruce and goodbye for now!!
--------------------Today marked the last day of the passion play for Bruce that ended with his burial. The aftermath of which will no doubt color my emotional palette with somber tones of denial. I am now in a nocturnal state of surrealistic reflection as this now moment resonates with a dull pain, when trying to grasp the reality of Bruce's send off today. There is no temporal comfort, but only half hidden tears that still linger. So glad I was able to say goodbye, in a public way, with my poetry as the means of expression. The passion of my reading was in sync with the heartfelt prayers felt by the many friends and lovers that filled the sanctuary to overflow. In remembrance, do I try to find meaning to the all that has transpired this day? I fight for a restful sleep, which has been all but elusive since Bruce was taken to the hospital. My children's innocence does screen them from the sorrowful reality that Bruce shall never walk through the door in the flesh again. Our cherished memories are so full and may carry us through for a time, until exhausted, and then only his touch, his voice, his joyous smile will be missed like never before, and yet never again to be witnessed in the flesh. Woe is me, and to us all who have loved, cared for and cherished God's gift to us all, and his name was Bruce!!!! Again I say adieu, not really comprehending all that I have come through, in trying to understand Bruce's final curtain call, on this life …