A friend of mine died last night. His name was Troy Duncan. He was beat to death outside a nightclub in Seattle. He had been holding on since last weekend in ICU. Now he is gone.
I met Troy at The Loft. You guys know what loft. He hit on me. Tried to get me to leave and go to the beach with him. Maybe I should have gone.
The last time I saw Troy was at my surprise going-away party in Seattle. He walked in, and like always I thought: “Hell yes, Troy is here.” Troy walked into a room and the energy lifted. People smiled. The party started.
“Live & Die in LA. Kick it. WIN. DO. Love ya Shilo, Troy” was what he wrote on my big signed poster from that party. I read it every day.
I danced my face off last night. Harder than I have in months. For Troy. I must have said his name 500 times, screaming it into the speakers, yelling it into the night. I kept telling random people about my friend who just died. Real hit of the party.
You might think it’s weird that I was partying my ass off last night. I don’t. All I could picture was Troy right beside me on the dance floor, where he had been so many times. And then I danced a little harder. And I screamed a little more. And I felt more helpless that I have ever felt before in my life. I can’t even wrap my head around this.
Is it right to post this blog? To write about it? What do I do? Writing and music are how I deal with this fucked-up world. I find it hard to even care about what happens to the two fucks who are responsible. What does it matter? It doesn’t matter to Troy.
FUCK VIOLENCE. Violence is not okay. It is never okay. Evolve already, humans. QUIT KILLING EACH OTHER.
I have had friends die before, but never in such a senseless, malicious way. I live for my dead friends, and I will live for Troy now. We all have to. We all have to dance a little harder, sing a bit louder, laugh even more. For Troy.
What do I do? I guess there is only one answer to that question:
“Live & Die in LA. Kick it. WIN. DO.”
Rest in peace my dancing friend. My heart is with you, Seattle.