When you hear that I have died, think of this
by Gabrielle Bouliane
Think of cool night breezes while you walk to meet your
friends for a beer on a Thursday. Think of waking up in flannel sheets on a
snowy morning and kissing someone you love. Think of hung-over diner breakfasts
and the best cup of coffee in the world. Think of the sound of tires on seamed
highways while you travel, think of French kissing and leather jackets and
push-up bras and bourbon, think of the joy of hard work with friends. Then
think of me.
Not sad, not the melancholy solitude of empty skies, but the
full days and crowded bars and signed contracts, a smile too big for my face,
remember I said I stay busy enough to fit three lives into one. When you hear
that I have died, know that I want laughter, and dancing, real dancing, to
music that makes you move without thinking, you’re wearing boots and jeans and
a great t-shirt and wondering if the girl at the edge thinks you’re cute. And
you motherfuckers had best DANCE, none of this bullshit rock-nod hands-in-the-pockets
shoegazer nonsense, no, make an ass out of yourself, feel your hips, kick off
the high heels and sway on the shoulder of a stranger, when I die, you’d better
be laughing your ass off on sidewalks, eating deliciously unhealthy food,
drinking shots and tipping your bartender well, no matter how much money you
make.
And Adam has to read the poem he wrote, and Laura, and June,
and Scott Carpenter has to play “Don’t Go Away, Chloe”, no fuck that, every
musician I’ve ever made out with or videotaped or road-tripped with has to
play, so drink some coffee, baby, it’s gonna be a long night. When you hear
that I have died, the best thing you can do is to get laid that night with a
comfortable stranger, use my story to get their sympathy, and when you kiss
them for the first time, think of me then.
When you hear that I have died, and you will, remember your
best revenge is to live well, take risks, save up money and chase your perfect
happiness. Beat the system and learn to make your art really support you, craft
into something your audience can’t live without. Then make the world an even
slightly better place — stop throwing your cigarettes on the ground, vote in
the next election, graffiti your life on the eyes of the hungry.
Then just do me one last favor. Please. Love something.
Anything. Start with yourself, but find passion in everything, from an apple
pie to a novel, make a family, get a degree, walk whatever path is yours with
your chin up and feet planted firmly. Have the best stories to tell in the old
folk’s home, about lifelong friendships and epic love affairs, about the time
you lost everything and yet found yourself happier than when you began.. and
remember that time we got in SO much trouble…
Poets.. remember. This is the story that never ends. When
one of us leaves, another walks through the door. The pages turn, the sun keeps
rising. All you can do in the meanwhile.. is to speak for yourself. Raise your
voice high, tell your story, join hands against the dark and sing our souls to
the sky. Know the best in me comes from the best in you, that as you tell your
story, you will be telling mine, and our lives will be linked together forever,
and everyone who hears you will become a part of the change we make.
So when you hear that I have died...
just ….live.
--Gabrielle Bouliane
BOULIANE - Gabrielle Gué Of Austin, TX, formerly of
Buffalo, NY, died of cancer. The cherished daughter of Thomas G. and Gretchen
Richter Bouliane of Boston MA (formerly of the Town of Tonawanda) died
peacefully under the care of Hospice Austin on January 29, 2010. A poet and
videographer, she graduated from Kenmore East and from the University at
Buffalo with degrees in English and urban planning (with an emphasis on
sustainable development); she wrote for Buffalo Rising and was the host of the
Nickel City Slam from 2005 through 2008.
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