The smiths always remind me of mike. He is the one whom I know who embodies their myth the most.
I love mike.
He has been my friend since I was eighteen years old.
We aren't the kind of friends who are touchy and close.
We are family. He gets irritated by me and chooses alleigiances with other factions of the family (OK, he loves kent more than me.). However, I wonder if he really realizes how much I value him.
He is a warlock. He is a witch. He sees ghosts and portents.
I once slayed him by saying to kent that 'to be rejected is one thing, but to be rejected by a fool is cruel'. I have told you this before. It is a central element of my friendship with mike. Because, if you think that my memory is elephantine - those of you who know me as friend - then, you would be floored by mikes. Kent remembers less than me; however, we are both floored at the extensive lists of checks and balances and the sheer historical recording ability of mike.
I know mike loves me. He loves me to distraction. He loves me like a mother/wife/whore/sister.
We have divorced once or twice. He monickered this term.
We are merely estranged now. Were either of us to show up on the others doorstep, dick in hand - we would crack open the weed and wine and embrace.