Chris Robinson’s ode to the brilliant Run Wrake, who left us far too soon in 2012.
For Run Wrake
Run was here.
Now Run’s gone.
I was here.
Still I’m here.
We met in ‘96
Asked me to play his jukebox.
I said no.
Then said yes.
We danced
With Curtis Mayfield, Sammo Hung,
Jackie Chan and meatheads.
Jukebox stops.
I want more.
I NEED more.
Run gives more.
Music for Babies. Howie B. U2, Robbie, Gang of Four.
Rhythm. Head buzz. Pop-look POW.
Whatever it was
Doesn't matter
Whyever it was
Doesn't matter.
FELT it,
Sensed it,
Devoured it.
A pause
Years pass
Need to look away
Then one day a BANG!
An explosion from a rabbit hole.
Little Dick and Little Jane break free of what wasn't to text cynical sunshine blood coloured gumballs of what is.
They inhale the here as they brutalize the now,
But poor Little Dick and poor Little Jane don’t see the dawn.
They don’t know that the sun always gives way to the dawn.
They don’t know but Run did.
This dawn looked like nothing before.
Because it was a life he’d never lived before.
I knew though.
I’d been there.
I lived it before.
No need to ask.
We spoke about our chemo cancer fear
Mostly our hope
Then mine came the day his left.
I would live.
He would not.
I was angry.
He was not.
Three months later.
October 2012.
I sit in a cancer clinic
Phone vibrates Run’s death
Doc says I’m okay.
Head out into the dawn stunned
Strut and stumble the sidewalks
Heading towards home
Wherever that is
Whatever that is
Before the dawn gives way to darkness
And hopefully
the sun.
A well-known figure in the world of independent animation, writer, author & curator Chris Robinson is the Artistic Director of the Ottawa International Animation Festival.
