Static

Walking the line between memoriam and tastelessness is surprisingly difficult. You want to say so many things - yet one of the many hazards of grief is saying something only to realize that it was misunderstood or misinterpreted by a person going through the same process themselves, but I realized, while I was sitting here trying to find pictures or mementos that I don't have any of those pictures that you look at and assume he would want shared. Not that he would want any shared - he used to give me hell for taking his picture. All I have are images like this - that, humiliating as they both might find this story and the fuss I made over chronicling it, this and every other story like it is still quintessential King.

I've known him for five years and you can look back through the depths of bloggy history and discover a story, a great length and detail, of every time he made me cry and every time he made me laugh and every time he made me want to wring his neck and I like that. I like that I can thumb through the pages of a digital history book and see imprints and memories.

Pictures are supposed to say 1000 words but I’m going to rely on this one to say far more than that because, for all my ability toward the obvious yet occasionally profound, I don't have anything near a summation yet.

Spell checked it just for you. :)