shane macgowan: the measure of my dreams

this is one i will never stop thinking about. this one will be held in the streams of blood pumping through my heart, or perhaps in those veins themselves that wrap around like ivy all over me - just right where i can't see them. under the skin, under the sea of me; that is where he will lie.

thousands of people lined the streets of dublin for the life of potentially the most candidly human artist to ever life. they sang together, they cried together, laughed together, told stories together. they were interwoven into one by a mutual love of one man who spoke for every single one of them in some way, at some time. perhaps, if they frequented the pubs enough, maybe he even bought them a pint just because. because that is what shane macgowan was: a human gift of generosity. he threaded a needle between continents, between enemies -- bringing to life the struggles of the disenfranchised, the displaced, the desolate, the desperate, and the devoted and giving all of them moments in the sunlight.

there has never been another person like shane.

the difference between shane and the rest of the world is that there is no difference at all. i feel to say that he was something that transcended the common people would be to miss the meaning of shane's life. to place him as a god amongst men would be cheap, easy, and misguided. shane opened himself up for the world to see, breaking the ribs to expose the heart and we cherished his heart. he did the most human thing anyone could ever do: allow themselves to be perceived. to be judged, to be hated, to be revered, to be inspired. and though all of those things were recieved, unlike any other artist whose passing i have seen, shane recieved love. he was human for us and we loved him for it. it feels impossible now to think of someone as tangible, as someone who occupies the space you do when you turn on their records, but shane had a magic about him that always placed him right besides you. you felt that if anything, perhaps he understood. and the sense that even if he didn't, he would still try.

shane was flawed. he had vices.

but the thing about shane's vices and flaws were that they were our vices, too. they were our flaws. it was nothing any honest man could deny thinking, doing, or being. his sincerity bled through into every syllable, every wax groove, every letter. he felt so close, like you could dial his number at any point in time and he would answer. it felt as though you could buy a ticket to dublin and spend time with him, and he would welcome you. and i think that where he is now, he is welcomed with open arms the same way that he did everyone while here.

shane macgowan will never be forgotten.

i have no doubts about that. and for once, i feel i can say with my heart that shane loved us, and we loved him well in return.

until we meet as strangers, in case i don't get the chance to tell you to your face one day; i love you, shane. and thank you. none of us were every truly alone because you were here to live with us.