(Note: the above file is not the one I wanted to post, but I had to play by tumblr’s rules, and the one I wanted was too long)
Ivy Bled Asia-Spare Rib (part 1)
Serendipity.
In a random fit of nostalgia, I decided to drudge up some of my old music that I recorded during my 6 years in Montréal. Not the music I recorded for the Scroll, but rather the music I wrote and recorded with my dear friend and (in our hearts) brother Aaron.
He and I were absolutely thick as thieves in those years. We met through mutual friends and immediately bonded on a level deeper than I think I’ve ever bonded with anyone else in my life.
We were troubled, both of us; Aaron suffered from (and continues to suffer from) paranoid schizophrenia. On any given day I didn’t know who I’d be talking to, but I always knew that underneath it was the man that was closer to me than family ever was. We had both gone through too much loss and pain for people of our age; we both lived in a city that was not home to us; we were both train wrecks in slow motion.
But we had each other. We were family. We both understood the darkness that lies at the core of the human condition, and we both embraced it—often too readily.
We began collaborating on music—a shared passion—soon after meeting one another. It was a natural fit. We just understood each other musically. We did not even need to speak, we would just express a thought rhythmically or tonally and then make it manifest.
We toured briefly throughout Ontario behind his project 8 Bit. We were either loved and revered like rockstars, or removed forcefully from the stage and nearly arrested (sometimes both).
Meanwhile, he helped me create my own musical project, which we called Ivy Bled Asia—an anagram of my name.
This project was representative of me at the time: dark, brooding, esoteric, experimental. More often than not (and I say this from the other side) we would take large quantities of drugs and record for days straight.
In any event, this evening I had begun to compile and re-listen to our work. As I was doing so, unbeknownst to me as I had my headphones and full blast, Aaron called.
We haven’t spoken in almost a year. This is maybe a story too long for one tumblr post, but after a very painful break that came as a result of me getting off drugs and him being unwilling to (we lived together), we parted ways.
In fact, I kicked him out. We held each other and cried as I told him that I loved him more than anything but that I couldn’t stand by while he killed himself, and so if he didn’t want to get clean, he had to leave.
He left, and has since credited that moment as being the one that saved his life.
He moved back to his home town of Oshawa, and within a year, he had gotten a girl pregnant.
What comes after is a story that is not mine to tell, but suffice it to say, I had no idea if he was dead or alive, and that was always something weighing on my mind. Until tonight.
As I was listening to the music we created those many years ago, he called. I didn’t hear it. I listened to the message. He told me he was sorry he hadn’t been in contact but that he thinks of me and dreams of me every day and night. He told me he loved me (as a sister, we never once crossed that line despite what the rumours said), he told me I’m still as much a part of his heart as I ever was.
I cried listening to his message. I’m tearing up thinking of it now. I have no number to call him back on, no contact information. He just called to tell me he loves me, and that he hopes I’m well.
He finished the conversation in true Aaron fashion by saying, “wow, this is way too personal and heartfelt. I need to fuck it up a bit. BITCH WHORE CUNT CUNT CUNT. Ok, I love you.”
And he hung up. If that is the last time I ever hear his voice, I will feel so blessed for having ever known him.
Aaron, I love you.
