Got a response to the 11/13 entry that’s worth sharing. Here it is followed by my answer.

Violence is a means to an end, right? We are all hard-wired to react one of two ways when in danger: to fight or to flee. Violence when not in danger is perpetrated for a number of possible reasons: it could be that one feels one might soon be in danger, it may come from a desire to have something someone else has, it may be to obtain food, or it may be simply to assert one’s status as an alpha-creature.

The reason we as human beings don’t constantly go around committing acts of violence is that we are civilized. Right? We have formed organized societies of individuals who work together toward common ends – agriculture, industry, protection, education, child-rearing – and who therefore must live together. And in order to live together without fear of constant infighting, we create laws and codes of ethics. And since the beginning of civilized society, the prevention of violence has been at the very top of everyone’s codes of law and ethics. Why? For two reasons: one, violence is so common and always on the edge of people’s behavior patterns; and two, because it’s so antithetical to good order – it threatens not only the people themselves (and hence the production on which organized economies are based), but also the institutions which govern the people: enough chaos can bring down the state.

But to return: asking who or what is responsible for an increased level of societal violence is absurd. It’s like asking why people want to have so much sex. It’s natural. What we should ask is why the ethical standards we’ve put in place are no longer effectively preventing the violence that always stands at the threshold of people’s personal ability to control it. Every day we as humans move a little further away from each other, retreat further into our own selves and deny that we have anything in common with, or owe anything to, our fellow human beings. There is no God nor anything to answer to, and humans are simply machines born out of nothing to satisfy their own desires at any cost.

As you hinted to, violence is a means to an end in more ways than mere fight or flight. Indeed, the fight/flight response is instinctive and we do often prepare for one or the other and react preemptively, but sometimes we like to break things just to watch them fall apart. As a part-time construction worker (i.e. homeowner), we both know that demolition can be a lot of fun, notably when the sledgehammer hits just the right board to bust the whole sumbitch down. So how is this a means to an end? I believe it satisfies a base/basic urge in another divided self, that being the builder/destroyer. When a bully picks on a smaller child, it may certainly be a demonstration of alpha dominance, but I suspect (having never been a bully) that on occasion it just makes the bully feel good to see the smaller child cry.

Are we civilized? Could our civilized attitudes just be masking our extreme co-dependence? If we had impunity, would we crush others simply because we could? Maybe some of us would and others wouldn’t. History books provide us with evidence of more than one autonomous ruler who invaded a neighboring society just because he or she could. This goes against the laws that were established by the rulers to keep the peace. And the same rulers who insist we not commit violent acts are committing more violent acts than any of us can fathom. Certainly there are economic and political gains to be made from such maneuvers, but neither of these motivations are entirely civilized.

This relates to your last point more than I would like it to. How can we expect that any ethical standards, that any civilized laws would prevent the spread of violence when those making the laws, those protecting the morality are leading the charge against it? Mysterious invasions of third-world nations, high-profile investigations of ministers, parental neglect and/or abuse… None of these things are directly responsible for an increase in violent tendencies, but they do teach us not care so much about our fellow humans, which I believe is the point of your argument. Once the Puritan half of our divided self is completely destroyed, the outlaw will be free to pillage with impunity.

But what of entropy? What about things that fall apart? Could it be that blaming our leaders for poorly representing and educating us is just another blaming mechanism at work? What if we are simply in the denouement of our society without the ability to re-write the ending?

Today Heidi and I will drive to Humboldt County for Jeff’s service. We will scatter his ashes on Wedding Rock in Patrick’s Point, a little section of the coastline near Trinidad. Jeff asked that I write something for him and read it at his service. Following is what I wrote:

When I first met Jeff in the summer of 1991, I was just another roommate to him, renting space from his mom, Sharon.

When I first met Jeff, I thought he was overconfident and shallow. He would prance by my room after a recently completed session in the gym and allow me the privilege of viewing his physique, tossing his long, golden locks from side to side. After living with him for a few weeks I decided that we would only be roommates because I could not see Jeff and me ever being friends.

But Jeff was subtle. The impression delivered to me was characteristically superficial, a carefully written composition orchestrated to allow him a safe distance with which to identify the morality and psychology of the people he encountered. At the time I did not realize he was assessing me, deciding if I was worth his time let alone his friendship. Some time later I would come to understand that I was the superficial one, one-dimensional and arrogant, passing judgment on Jeff merely for his appearance.

Jeff and I became friends, good friends. And we shared many adventures. So many that he made a request recently that I write something for him. It wasn’t a eulogy he was asking for. Jeff wanted me to write the true stories of our lives, to record the sounds and scenes of the time we spent together, and that once completed, this collection would be a Jeff and Dave greatest hits album of sorts, a legacy of our lives.

He was lucid when he spoke to me, counting off no less than twenty vivid occurrences from a period in my life where memories speak to me in an unintelligible language, like the laughter of a group of children playing in some far off field. I could hear the names, see the faces, but the words were muted to me. It seemed that my healthy mind could only look outward and forward. But Jeff remembered them all, spoke them to me, made me hear and understand them.

“Remember when you pretended to have a seizure on a busy San Francisco sidewalk?”

“How about when we decided to pick up some beer at the food store wearing our wet suits and flippers?”

“Or getting a long-hair discount at the billiards hall in Fairfield?”

“And let’s not forget all the music, let’s never forget all the music.”

He remembered many things that I did not. He told me that I must write them down, that I called myself a writer so it was, therefore, my job. He would be my encyclopedia, my source, charting out the points of interest on the map of our lives. I would take notes, create an outline and ultimately flesh out the stories. He didn’t tell me at the time where to begin or where to end, what to call the completed collection or even if it were possible to complete such a project. I have decided to begin the collection with a letter I wrote to him for his memory book and end with these words I read to you now. I have also decided what I will call the collection, which I will explain in a moment.

Many of you knew Jeff when I was not a part of his life. These times I cannot relate, I simply cannot be the voice that others lip sync along to. Each of you is charged with recording and replaying your specific memories of Jeff. Whether you write these songs out or play them only to yourself is, of course, up to you. Perhaps you have already a specific tune in mind, a melody hanging in your memory.

Ultimately, for me the songs are of laughter, of sorrow and of praise. Each with touches of his famously dry humor, his endless list of overcome disadvantages, and his ability to run through life as a chameleon, changing colors just when you think you’ve spotted him. And every song is powered by his relentless pursuit of his potential, his need to be the best he could possibly be at everything he attempted.

We may have different opinions on what drove Jeff to aspire. Some of us were lucky enough to ride shotgun on his journey and found ourselves moving closer to our own goals after merely observing him put another one in his bag. For this we may consider him a source of power as well as for music and memory. Charging us again, but in a different sense: charging us like a battery, winding us up and setting us loose to move more passionately through life, never retreating from a challenge and never surrendering to the environments that affect us. More than eight years ago and with little happening in my own life, I followed Jeff to Humboldt County where he would complete one of his goals and become a college graduate. Less than one year later, inspired by his success, I returned to college to complete my degree.

It is fitting that we are now here in Humboldt County, a shoulder of California blessed by some of the most beautiful terrain in the world. The redwoods loom nearby, intimidating the soul with their age and magnificence, overshadowed only by the cliffs and beaches of the coastline. Jeff loved to hike through the seemingly endless forests, to walk these beaches. Humboldt County is a spiritually rich place, and it is where he wanted the last bits of his physical self scattered.

Long ago, Jeff and I reveled in our independence from faith and religion, our ability to live completely self-reliant. Perhaps it is the duality spoken of by professors and poets that allows us to contemplate self-reliance yet to accept and enjoy the works of others, to devour the love they offer us, only calling it into question when it interrupts our personal journey. The last lesson I can say I learned from Jeff in his physical presence is that no matter who is holding our hands along the way, we must all cross the bar on our own, consoled only by one thing: that we are all in some way spiritually connected, that life is not some cosmic quirk where we merely fumble around in darkness. Without this generic bit of faith, the end seems only cruel and pointless.

Jeff struggled with spiritual consolation, his life too early intruded upon by disease to give him the means to easily find thanks or even resignation, only a final end to all of the suffering he endured. Sitting next to him during his last few days, I can honestly say that I, too, am having trouble seeing any grace in such an act, that I have spoken harsh prayers, that I have renounced what I never truly committed to.

But Jeff is subtle. Possibly now he is letting us know that we are still here with the time for consideration, for God or Buddha or Gaia, for us to find whatever it is that we want for ourselves in life and beyond. For this lesson, Jeff, I will thank you privately for the rest of my life and in person when I follow you once more.

I will keep my promise to Jeff, and I will write the greatest hits of our lives. Like Tennyson’s tribute to Hallam, it may take a decade or more to complete. I mentioned earlier that I already know what to call this collection. There is a book that Jeff gave to me before he passed called Infinite Jest. I remember years ago when he got it, and we discussed this book’s girth. At more that 1,000 pages, the book would take considerable time to read. Jeff seemed undaunted, and pledged to tackle the massive tome after finishing with his studies. As you know, Jeff never did finish his graduate work, and subsequently, he never finished this book. To me the connection is obvious: the unfinished book and the unfinished life, both interrupted by cancer. But like life, a book gives itself over to you in tiny pieces, and often the process of reading is more enjoyable than the completion of the story. And like a book, life lingers on after the pulse is gone in those who have read the text and remember their favorite parts. I think Jeff bought the book based on title alone, long having associated himself with the jester, both in philosophy and with the ink of a tattooist’s needle. For this reason, I will call my collection of stories Infinite Jeff. I think he would like that title.

In each story there will be invisible footnotes, a hidden bibliography of sources. These references will be to the songs of all of you who also knew and loved Jeff, who he influenced and who influenced him. You see, we are all sources, and sharing our memories of Jeff will keep us connected to one another and to him, for now and forever. And he will continue to inspire us, to teach us. In his subtlety we will continue to find lessons and metaphors. In his aspiration we will continue to find motivation and confidence. In his humor we will continue to find laughter. In his absence we will miss him: our brother, our son, our lover, our friend, our Jeff.