Copied directly from my Mac’s Dictionary:

empyrean |emˈpirēən; ˌempəˈrēən| (also empyreal |-əl|)
adjective
belonging to or deriving from heaven.

noun ( the empyrean)
heaven, in particular the highest part of heaven.
• poetic/literary the visible heavens; the sky.
ORIGIN late Middle English (as an adjective): via medieval Latin from Greek empurios, from en- ‘in’ + pur ‘fire.’ The noun dates from the mid 17th cent.

Copied directly from my life yesterday:

I woke up at the Pullman, Washington Holiday Inn at 3:55am yesterday. I was surprised it was so early, having nodded off around midnight. Couldn’t sleep. Ate the continental breakfast. Walked around the hotel. Something heavy and ominous loomed over me all morning. I tried writing and working on my schedule. I tinkered around the internet. I watched two VH1 specials. I tried tracking down a Bank of America to deposit the college-gig check I got the night before. With this, I planned to buy a ticket to Austin to visit Gabrielle next week.

I checked out of the hotel while waiting for the shuttle to take me to the bus depot, I got a text message from Tony Brown that read:

“sounds like time for a real big bunny up…“

I realized that I had still had a few things to say to Gabrielle, the slamily, and anyone willing to read. In the depot, I began a longish journal entry explaining Gabrielle’s situation. To a lot of people who didn’t know her, it must’ve been pretty clear that a friend of the community was ill, but I just wanted to talk about her. I figured, if she’s dying today, I wanted everybody who came across my blog to think about her a.m.a.p. I continued writing onto the 2:20 afternoon bus to Spokane, which is only 75 minutes away. I saw Cynthia French’s LiveJournal post regarding the influx of calls to Gabrielle’s crew in Austin yesterday morning. People just looking for info on Gab’s condition. Only the people at hospice knew that she wasn’t going to make it through the night. I think that feeling alone got out to the right people and it spread almost wordless throughout the community.

A week or so ago, I contacted the Riddle sisters, these two lovely, delightful do-it-yourself venue owners in Spokane about booking a show in their awesome café/venue. It’s a pretty popular joint. The Electric Whale Revival played their spot in November 2007 and it was easily one of my top three favorite shows of the whole tour, along with Gabrielle’s Buffalo gig. They got back to me and were stoked to have me open for a trio of bands on Friday.

The bus pulled into the Spokane depot as I hit ‘publish’ on my blog. Transmitting in a bus garage, I wasn’t sure if it had gone through. Michelle Riddle met me inside and a wave of sheer exhaustion hit me. I had intended to sleep on the bus, but my post became a priority. I felt like I was racing time, racing Gabrielle. I was sure to not refer to Gabs in the past tense. I wanted it to be something for a living friend, even if she couldn’t read it, or ever see it. I knew she probably hadn’t been conscious the whole day, but I surely didn’t anticipate the outcome of yesterday afternoon. At Michelle’s house, I was greeted by her equally awesome roommates, Zack and Anna, who made me feel super-welcome. I planned to nap before the show and laid out on a couch, immediately comfortable. Feeling tired and a bit low, I had planned a heavier, serious set, for what I thought might be a poet-heavy audience. As my eyelids became heavy my phone rang. It was Rachel McKibbens. I could tell in her voice that it wasn’t good news. I asked her if Gabrielle was okay and she said, “she passed 30 minutes ago.” My stomach sunk and I was just absolutely done with the day. McKibbens and I talked for a bit and I was so very glad I heard the news from her. I didn’t want to turn on my computer, but I needed to know that my post went through. I figured if it hadn’t, then I had missed out on putting it into the world while Gabrielle was here with us; maybe I should delete the draft. If it had posted, even if for a moment before Gabrielle died, then at least the people who read it were thinking about G before she passed. McKibbens confirmed that my post had gone through. I still figured I had been too late.

McKibbens had a short list of people she wanted to call, so that they wouldn’t hear about it online. I called Tony Brown. Mike Henry called me after calling Bill MacMillan, who then called me too. It was a much needed daisy-chain of calls in a short spell. Word seemed to get out pretty quickly over the phone. I kept trying to read updates on LiveJournal, but the house seems to be in a mobile signal void, and wouldn’t connect to the internet. Then text messages started rolling in. I eventually ignored my phone enough to doze off. Michelle woke me an hour later and brought to her venue, Empyrean Café.

We got there about 7pm, I went on at 7:25, performing in front of an audience that was surely there to hear live music, but as the place filled, the more they listened. Enough people in the room were familiar enough with spoken word to make me feel more at home. The Empyrean is also Spokane’s poetry slam venue (2nd Thursdays), but tonight was band night. I dedicated my set to Gabrielle, and went into full on funny-poem-mode. I knew the only way to keep them listening was to be humorous and I knew that the only way I wasn’t going to break down crying in front of a group of strangers was to mention Muppet-fisting and creamy desserts. It went very well and I made enough converts to spoken word to sell several books. It was good and it felt like Gabs would’ve approved. Even the bands that went on after me seemed pretty stoked and impressed by the work. I got a dozen or so, ‘I didn’t think poetry could be like that.’

Chatting with Avont, a wonderful off-the-clock bartender, originally from Chicago, he mentioned that he had originally found a video of me online and researched more of my work a few years ago. When he sat down with some friends to see the line-up for the night, not knowing I’d be opening, he thought my voice was familiar, but immediately recognized it when I launched into “Soul Food.” He was pleased. I was pleased.

Gabrielle kept coming to mind and since the Riddles were busily running the café, I didn’t want to bother them. They fed and caffeinated me for free and the bands playing were all fantastic, but I was returning to exhaustion. I had planned to bus down to Portland in the morning, so I didn’t think it wise to get drunk, so I avoided beer. I really wanted to drink a shot or a pint for Gabrielle, but there was nobody around Spokane who knew her so I figured I’d wait until I was among other Bunnies to have a drink on her account. Anna offered to drop me off at the house. On the way out, a young man named Tyler — with what looked like crucifix tattoos on his temples — chased me out of the Empyrean and handed me a folded up napkin. He said to read it later and to call him if it registered. I thanked him and put it in my pocket.

Zack was home so we talked a while. He was preparing for a trip to Seattle to compete in a breakdance tournament. He’s also a poet who slams locally and was Spokane’s Indie rep in Berkeley last year. Sweet kid. Truly.

I went online and saw that my journal entry posted roughly 8 minutes before Gabs passed away. 8. I’d like to think that with so many Bunny Ups and heartfelt love transferring across the internet, and good, good people watching over her, that she passed on in peace. So much energy directed at her loving soul.

Gabs, now that you’re gone, I don’t know what to think of the spiritual world. I am not a religious man. I don’t know that I have a god. But if there is one, or a heaven, or an afterlife, you probably know all about it now. I miss you. I miss your smile and I wish I could hold you real good. I wish I could squeeze you again. I want to share a pitcher with you and laugh. I can’t. Okay. Suit yourself. I am selfish. I am not looking forward to the days I can’t take the sadness. I am not looking forward to the inevitable bunny tattoos the poets will invariably get put on them in their attempt to memorialize you. I thought about it, then I read your letter again and I know more of what to do with my life. I promise you that I will keep laughing and making laughter happen all around me. If your energy is around, please make it known through all that laughter. Thank you so very much for loving me and what I do. Thank you for convincing me that I’m doing it right. I love you so much. I always will. And if you can get internet wherever you are, Mongo put together this track for you. I know that if you of all people can get internet, then you do have internet. Go listen to it here. While I was thinking about you last night, in a building named after Heaven, a boy handed me a note on a napkin. I read it today. Here’s what it said:

”your way with words, Poetry & just the gift to speak over people, is more than an outlet man. Its a gift. A gift from God. I don’t know how you feel about him but he loves you. He sees the burden on your shoulders. And he wants to take it away. Your writings meant for more than a way to let out insecuritie & hurt. You are meant to change lives. Thousands. Bring your problems before God & he will give you the words to speak over people who have hurts just like yours, bringing them out Depression, insecuritie, & just helping them feel loved. You have a huge calling man. Your in my prayers.

Much love!

(Phone number)
hit me up if this spoke to you, I feel God wanted you to hear this

Was that you last night, Gabrielle? I’m keeping the napkin because I feel I should at least thank the kid once more. But I definitely felt something in that last night. Did you visit all the poets on your way home? Did you rise? Did you fly? What’s it like? The one thing that left with you yesterday was all of my worry for you. It’s gone probably because you are. But you aren’t though. So many of us are holding on to you. When I am stuck or need advice, I am always gonna ask myself WWGD: What Would Gabrielle Do? I decided not to go to Portland today. I wanted to nap on the couch I was on when I heard you died. I can’t believe you’re dead. I can’t. Not when you were just in Worcester playing games with us in MacMillan’s basement. Good times. I promise you I will have many more good times. SO many. I will not be afraid to have fun or be fun. I promise you I will find real love. I will seek it out and hang onto it and honor it. I miss you. I have missed you since you told us you were sick. I was scared to see you so ill. I was afraid of seeing you thin and ill. So very worried about it. I didn’t want proof that you were dying, but I’m glad you told us. It made yesterday a bit easier. You really know how to make people comfortable, don’t you. Maybe sacrificing your own comfort a little too often. I am working on that too. The post I tried to put out to the world before you left went up at 3:55pm, exactly 12 hours after I woke up. Isn’t that weird? Exactly 12 hours of ominous looming. I felt is was you. I love you, Gabrielle. Should I get a bunny tattooed next to my ladybug? I know I am (nash) rambling right now, but its just what comes out. I am finally crying, not hard, just right. I wish you were here, mama. They’re probably gonna name a poetry slam award after you. You knew that, didn’t you? I think it’s a good idea. I’d love to win a GABY! Who wouldn’t? I don’t even know what it is yet, but I know where I’d put it in my house. Maybe it should be a volunteer or a WoW award. What Would You Do, G? Thank you so much for all you were. Let’s talk like this often. I’m still gonna need you.

Goodbye, my friend. I love you.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

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This entry was written by Mike McGee, posted on 30 January, 2010 at 6:04 PM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged gabrielle bouliane, Love, personal updates. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.