WILL,
THERE HAS NEVER BEEN & THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER LIKE YOU.
YOU WERE TRULY ONE FOR THE BOOKS.
A SOUTHERN HICK, SEASONED ON THE ROAD, SCHOOLED ON THE STREETS OF NEW YORK.
YOU WERE AS SHARP AS ANY MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS CITY AND TWICE AS FUNNY AS THEM.
YOU WERE AS SHARP AS ANY MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS CITY AND TWICE AS FUNNY AS THEM.
YOUR WIT, YOUR ACCENT, YOU HAD A ONE LINER FOR EVERYTHING.
YOU WERE SO CUTE BUT I COULD NEVER TELL YOU THAT BECAUSE YOU WERE ALREADY TRYING TO FUCK ME-
BUT YOU WERE NEVER A CREEP, NEVER NOT SWEET, & ALWAYS A SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN.
I ADMIRED YOUR GAME SO MUCH THAT I THINK I SOUGHT IT OUT TO SEE WHAT TRICKS YOU HAD UP YOUR SLEEVE & TO BOOST MY SELF ESTEEM.
BUT ABOVE THAT
YOU WERE A TRUE FRIEND.
YOU ALWAYS HAD TIME FOR ME,
EVEN IF YOU WERE A DIVA IF I WAS 5 MINUTES LATE,
YOU'D ALWAYS try TO HAVE A PLACE FOR ME TO CRASH
AND IF YOUR ROOMATES WERENT WITH IT YOU'D PULL SOME STRINGS AND FIND ME A WARM SQUAT.
YOU WERE AND ARE A FOLK HERO TO ME.
A TRUE AMERICAN BADASS.
YOU WERE THE FIRST TRAINHOPPER I MET,
AND YOU OPENED MY EYES.
AND WHEN I WENT OUT AND GAVE THE RAILS A RUN FOR THEIR MONEY THE SHIT YOU TAUGHT ME IS PROLLY WHY I MADE IT THROUGH WITH ALL MY LIMBS.
THANK YOU.
YOURE THE REASON I ALWAYS, AND STILL, LIKED RIDING GRAINERS THE BEST.
WHEN I DIDNT KNOW NOTHING
YOU WERE TELLING ME STORIES & SHOWED ME A PICTURE OF YOU RIDING A PORCH..
EVER SINCE THEN CONSCIOUSLY & SUBCONSCIOUSLY they always seem like home, SAFE, Secure and I always envisioned you
WILL, THE URBAN UNDERDOG.
WILL, THE URBAN UNDERDOG.
WHEN WE MET, AND WE TRAVELED UP THE COAST, AND YOU WERE TRYING TO FUCK ME, YOU WERE TELLING ME YOUR DREAMS & STORIES,
HALF OF WHICH were MADE UP EXTENSIONS OF YOUR FICTIONAL WRITING, I KNEW AND DIDNT MIND.
YOU TOLD ME ABOUT A DREAM TO PUBLISH A collaborative ARTIST AND WRITER ZINE
HALF OF WHICH were MADE UP EXTENSIONS OF YOUR FICTIONAL WRITING, I KNEW AND DIDNT MIND.
YOU TOLD ME ABOUT A DREAM TO PUBLISH A collaborative ARTIST AND WRITER ZINE
called the urban underdog.
It was the most magical phrase
and it described you point blank.
you loved this city,
you romantisized it the way it was meant to be romantasized.
You didnt give up on it.
it was inspiring.
[even if the dope didnt hurt your affinity for it here.]
you still hung out at cafe's all night like kerouac was there.
and even if they were yuppie ass places
you made them real.
you and your ratchet ass service dog
that literally would bite everybody.
Zola was so fucking cute everyone wanted to pet her.
I watched her bite a girl at Union Square,
you yelled at the girl
than coddled Zola like a little baby.
God you were THE GREATEST.
My last text to you was on thanksgiving eve-
it said
"the urban underdog"
what i usually said to initiate conversation and see what your plans were,
but turns out you were already almost dead,
i wish i sent you texts that said how beautiful i thought you were-
because that how i described you to everyone else.
I DONT KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN RUGGED FOLK HEROS CROSS THE THRESHOLD
BUT I HOPE YOU MAKE IT TO A PLACE WHERE YOUR LIGHT CAN SHINE N YOU AINT GOTTA WRASTLE YOUR DEMONS NO MORE.
ALL THE TRAINKIDS WILL BE PRETENSIOUS PUSSIES IN THE SHADOW OF YOU,
AND NEW YORK CITY WILL NEVER BE AS BADASS WITHOUT YOU.
LONG LIVE THE SPIRIT OF WILL COLBY
THE URBAN UNDERDOG.!
[eulogy, as read at his street kid memorial at east river park, lower east side, new york city. december 1 2018]
[altar at memorial]
realized while painting this that i also did a watercolor painting of will on the 2nd day we hung out on a rainy ass day in fairfax virginia in the public library.
will dig that out someday.
also
this song i wrote years ago
it was a tribute to will,while alive, or something, that morphed into a love song because he put me in contact with a girl i started seeing who had a boyfriend in prision
"blame it on will" "for fallin in love"(hed had a thing for be and her independently)
when i told him the lyrics, at the semi fancy brooklyn artist loft he was living in and paying for by flying a sign, he excitedly said
THATS RIGHT!
everyone just blames it on will.
think that was the night you got telling stories about your childhood
and the south really came out
you put on david allen coe
and said old crow ripped off his song for wagon wheel (tryin to figure out which one)
your accent was so thick and cute.
wow.
id say i miss you and be sad
but im lucky to have met and been close friends with such a remarkable man.
farewell.
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