On what’s becoming more and more of a regular occurrence, I woke up this morning on Jon Larsen’s floor to the sound of Beach House on repeat. Jon has a hard time falling asleep without noise, and thus he’s in the habit of playing music rather loudly from the moment he starts yawning to when he wakes up at 7 P.M. Jon doesn’t like being awake. The only thing he hates worse is silence.
Groggily I got to my feet and checked my pockets for items I might have lost. All there. I looked over at Jon’s protracted body lying awkwardly on his bed and remembered my dream from the night before, a dream where I’d woken up to find Jon in the same position, only now dead. In the dream I called 911 and calmly told the dispatcher, “I think my friend is dead. There’s probably no reason to send paramedics but I imagine it’s customary for these types of things.” Afterwards I hung up the phone, grabbed one of Jon’s film cameras, took a photo of his now vacant face and put the camera down. Then, for whatever reason, I’d update my Facebook status. The fact that I was updating my Facebook in a dream after I found Jon’s dead body is fucked up. Social media is so invasive that I can’t escape it even in sleep. But that’s not the point. The point is, I obviously couldn’t write, “Jon Larsen is dead,” on my wall, as it’s become such an expected catch phrase that it might as well be copy-writed, and if I did write that, no one would bat an eyelid. Instead I wrote, “Life imitates art,” and kept it good at that.