He Was So...[beta v.06]
You know how when someone, somewhere unexpectedly dies and the TeeVee news shoves a camera in some neighbor's mug and that neighbor says, "Uh, well, he seemed like a quiet person; never caused me any problems...It's such a shame, I guess..." And you're all screaming at the set, "You're totally lying! Tell me what you really thought!" It's usually so much like that that the TeeVee news should basically stop asking that question. Even friends are so carefully guarded (remember what Michael Jackson's "friends" said?).
What if people really provided their honest assessment of you? Like in website comment sections - anonymously? And what if you actually got to read that some day? I am curious...
Well, here's your chance: The RIP Ty Project. Here's what you do: Go to COMMENTS (below) and type your soundbite/soundbyte about...me! Seriously. You can post your bite like you do on any other comment section on any other Web site.
Two things:Ready? Here's your cue:
- Comment anonymously please
- I won't be reading until October 24, 20??
"So, tell me about Ty..."
27 comments:
You challenged my way of thinking and for that I both love and hate you. Who will challenge said thinking in your absence? Without you to do so I risk reverting to the old me. That's not cool. Your presence enhanced the lives of those who knew you. You will be missed. p.s. I can't believe you're going to read this on our birthday. :-)
Ty, Ty ... your photos, a blur of better reality; prepared for all yet totally unsuspecting, as fatherhood proved to us if not you; a tall inner man dwarfed by dreams that could have been still taller, broader, wider, brighter ... yet still, still.. refined, proud and rightly so .... Have you at last merged with the horizon and slipped over its edge to find yourself where you started, but now rich with Life's breath?
Fucking fraud. I piss on your grave.
It's too bad you're gone. I would have banged you.
Was it the herpes?
So does this mean Anne is available?
Well, Ty - I hardly knew ye. You were a real life Lao Tzu, or Mr. Miyagi for the rest of you. I really don't know what to say, other than that your absence from this world is the real loss.
Like Miyagi himself, it was quite difficult at times, but in the end we all learned.
The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead. What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral. To sit at the front and hear what was said. Maybe say a few things yourself. - Waking Ned Divine
Ty, if this is what you are trying to do with this project - sit at the front row of your own funeral, maybe say a few words yourself - it is the epitome of you and your work: playing with boundaries, re-describing what to others looks like a given. And unlike most people you Do, you Act, you Realize so much of the crazy play you dream up. You use the things you See in the present - the whole, the details, the detritus - to create more. No wonder you resist categorizing your work. Because your work is Everything, and Everything is your work.
Do I need to speak in the past tense? Because if Ty were gone now, I might reflect that, most obviously, he was inextricably bound to his imagination, his energy, and his art. That I never knew a passive Ty, that, trying to think of just a guy named Ty, without his current of wit, photographs, writing, energy, ideas, discourse, assessment, and projects, was almost impossible. I only ever saw him shed these things and unwind in small moments – like when, mornings spent away from his family, he’d call Anne and Bren to connect. And even then, when I caught a little of the murmured conversation, I could hear flickers of invention rising, comments that turned everyone’s common day residue into something more, something curious, fascinating, noteworthy.
Once, when I was struggling to get along in an unfriendly environment, Ty remarked, as a way of suggesting that I had more power and autonomy than I knew, that the world was his stage, and people actors in his play. He didn’t say this, but I know that he loved watching this play, and orchestrating bits from time to time; that he was endlessly entertained by interplay and that he delighted in making his part of the script unexpected. That he always wanted to know what was Next.
It was not, and is not, lost on me that Ty knew exactly how and when to help people he loved, and did it in the best way: by inspiring them, and suggesting insightful ways they could inspire themselves.
Within orbit of Ty’s improv and encouragement, life got more interesting. For those of us who stepped on stage, sat in the audience, debriefed with him backstage, collaborated on the scenes, or even just read the reviews, his life was an event to remember, and the script one to keep, reread, envy, puzzle over, relate. And admire.
Hi Ty. This is me talking to you in the future:
Hi Ty.
Oh man, not Ty. He was a creative bastard. Please excuse the explicative, this is a shock. What the hell am I supposed to say? You people and your invasive microphones. Have you no respect for grief? Yes, these are genuine tears, but how would you know? Grief invades my soul with a sudden hot knife that severs trust in the next moment and you want to exploit this tragedy to boost ratings? Leave me alone. I can't think right now. Get that camera out of my face. Oh, how his family must be feeling. This is terrible. Are you sure it was him? Did they check the dental records. How could this have happened? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . this cannot be.
I always wondered if I was Ty's latest project, if he would tire of me as his attention turned to new and shinier objects to discover. At least I had the time with him that I did.
Having Ty in my life was like having a mirror to reflect back all of the creative energy within me. But I always knew that at the same time Ty was looking at me, he was also looking past me, looking out into the world to see what he was missing in some relentless attempt make sense of the world for himself. And in those moments, I knew that his fascination with some small thing about me was transitory - gone before it was ever even fully realized.
Come on, people! Let's face the facts. Project 21 finally caught up to him. Thank you Ty for exposing the truth! You did more than you ever needed to, and the world is a better place.
Ty Hardaway confirmed something for me - that no matter how unique, no matter how much we feel as though we are a singular being floating out here in this Great Big World - we can find someone out there that gets "it."
In my own life, I have spent so much of my time hidden behind self-built walls, constructs created to hide my vulnerabilities, my truths.
In knowing Ty Hardaway - I never had to explain these constructs to him. He just knew from jump.
I can never thank him enough for this gift.
(Word Verification: uptumshr - which we should all tattoo on our inner beings, as this word will forever be synonymous with Ty Hardaway - an Uptumshr amongst mere mortals.)
When I met Ty, he wandered into my black mental cavern and lit up the motherfucker like Officer John McClane, and I'll never be able to fully express my gratitude.
Not to poach the above commenter, but my word verification is lightnaw.
I'd like to add that Ty wielded the lightnaw that jump-started my mental motor back to life.
I am saddened that Ty has left the world before we could collaborate further, in person, and become better friends. We can both be strange when it comes to friendships. Although I knew him longer than almost everyone else besides family, we were still strangers in many ways.
Ty could be quite the bristling porcupine, and you could always expect an honest opinion from him no matter how sharp it might be. Ty would never be nice just to make someone feel good. If you're acting stupid, he'd let you know. It is this honesty and lack of pretense or bullshit that I admired most.
Ty was the only one who I could send random creations to and had the patience to understand and appreciate them. Without Ty around, what am I to do now? A vacuum has formed.
Are you really sure he’s gone? Truly, I can hardly believe that this has happened. I almost think I’ll have to peek around the corner or look for the hidden camera, to see if this is all some elaborate ruse that Ty has created to watch us from a remote location, record our reactions, photograph us, and reveal his findings with a twinkle in his eye… There is far much more that I could say (that I once wrote in a letter for him), so I will have to take a bit of comfort in knowing that he knew (at least partially) what I thought of and about him. The rest of my thanks and thoughts will stay with me always…or maybe I’ll say them out loud and he, in some mystical/magical/transformed version of himself that we can’t even imagine, will hear me. Ha! (All that life energy has to have gone somewhere.) Ty’s friendship has been an incredible and unexpected gift in myriad ways, and it has had a permanent effect on me.
Now that he’s gone, it is incumbent upon us to do everything for ourselves and our world that he did with his brilliance and vision, honesty and kindness, attentiveness and wit. Ty did not waste a moment, and this is one of the many lessons with which he leaves us (but we have to remember them ALL). He lived his too-short life fully…he overcame tremendous odds…he knew that all roads connect…and I am sure that in his heart--and, I hope, in his mind, whether his death was easy or hard--that love had the last word.
Now we’ll never get to know the vastness of a long lifetime of his incredible and unique observations, offerings, insights and reflections, but this is our loss, not his. He will not and cannot possibly be replaced or replicated. There is some additional small comfort in knowing that he’d take a wry, perhaps wistful satisfaction in all of our eyes and hearts being wide open, together, at this moment, this communion of loss and grief. He touched us all profoundly, each in direct relationship to how we received him. I only wish he could give us some kind of sign.
Ty, buddy, I am really struggling with this…I miss you so…I just can hardly stand this right now. I wanted to have you in the rest of my life, dammit. I just hope you can hear me.
Does this mean there will be a fake Ty (or Fy) over at the Black Beatles now? I bet Ty's been prepping his clone for years now, probably harvested and grew his own damn self. If you look at the bending wood video, you'll notice some moles absent in all other photos. The real death photo is the one that was taken outside of the Yale campus. This is the last known photo of Mr. Hardaway. Time to start playing the music backwards.
I'm not going to mourn over our friend Ty. The thing that I will celebrate most is the life he brought out in me. To Ty - you sonofabitch - you created, all right! Even if everything you created for yourself was forgotten, what you REALLY created was life - life unto those you chose to, and this you did without even trying. For this alone you are a King among men.
I'd pour out some weed for you, but I haven't got any - will the whiskey do?
consider this your Irish wake, brother: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TaHMG_SvUkw
am i too late?
that dude was crazy as fuck. crazy genius!
not many of them motherfuckers. but, WTF, boo-hoo, i'd do ANYthing to bring him baaaaaackkk.
i can't believe it's true. so many things come to mind when I think of our dear friend, so let's do it alphabetically: artistic, beatific, creative, dedicated, energetic, friendly, generous, high-minded, ingratiating, judicious, kind, loving, mysterious, naughty, opinionated, persevering, quizzical, rapscallion, sensory, tidy, unlimited, vivid, wise, x..., yearning, Zen. We love you and miss you, Ty. Come back and visit us sometime :-)
Ty, since you're actually alive - this is your Macbook calling. Can you make a site for me?
I just recently was beginning to get to know him; I feel like someone has wrenched my half-eaten ice cream cone from my hand.
It is a huge loss...
TY- Dammit- I warned you to always check the chamber before cleaning that damn gun at target practice.
Poor Ty, he had the distinct misfortune to die 3 days after the Rapture on October 21!
Jesus can't save everyone!
A bit of irony: the word verification for me on this post was: blessor !!
Is someone trying to tell me something?
I'm not sure if I miss Ty or Julius more. One was an artistic genius, the other - a prankster. I loved them both dearly. WHY LORD, WHY?!?!?!
Wait -- is this where we leave money to help put Blognigger's fake kids through school? Who the fuck is this "Ty," and how did he die? I bet Blognigger killed him. Blognigger kills everything. Pathetic fuckstain.
wv: autdissm -- the act of auto-dissing Blognigger.
Hi Ty! Bye Ty! NEVER GET OUT OF THE BOAT!
Hey buddy! Glad to hear you're floating around here with me. Can't wait to bump into you.
WV: Art Ketgood (how apropos)
(who'm I kidding? I don't even exist anymore)
Your voice is in my head. Still.
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