I received a text yesterday informing me that an acquaintance of the band was dying. He was the booker at a place called "Le Mer", up on Taiwan's north coast, where we played a bunch of times from April to June.

I didn't have a relationship with him. I actually thought him an asshole. I never had a conversation with him, and one time he didn't even recognize me. We all have that with some people, no chemistry, it's just like that. And thinking him an asshole is not a judgment, just my experience with him. He may be a totally decent guy. Or he might really be an asswipe.

Apparently, his "liver shut down". I heard it was manifest by his skin color changing to some unnatural shade of yellow. He went to the hospital and they don't expect him to live past 7 to 10 days.

I've cut down on drinking in a major way this past month. Since when I last mentioned it, although I did end up washing that shot glass within the week. I also finished off that bottle of vodka after a week to celebrate, and since then I've been nursing a single bottle of whiskey.

It's been easy not drinking. I just think about how "bad" it makes me feel. And when I finished off that bottle of vodka, I felt "bad". I decided I don't want to drink myself to death. I don't want to sabotage my liver and find my skin changing color as evidence that something is seriously wrong.

And this guy was probably 10 years my senior, and, good lord, thinking of living another 10 years is unthinkable. I have to step up to the plate. If I want to die, I want to be proactive about it. My decision, my direct action. None of this namby-pamby constant drinking hoping my liver will grow to the size of a small boat and give out one day.

I don't know how this guy feels having been given a death sentence. My first thought was that he was cool with it, accepted it as the natural consequence of how he lived his life. But who knows? Maybe he bawled like a baby. Maybe he never considered death as a natural consequence of abusing his liver.

I try to visualize what I would do if I was given 7 to 10 days to live. I would be overjoyed. I would be so happy to be in the home stretch, and I would appreciate every breath like I never appreciated one before. Unless I was being kept alive by a machine, and then I'd tell them to unplug it, fuckall.

I wonder if I'm being callous about the news of this guy's death. I had moments of profound reflection after I got the text. As an asshole, I should have no aversion to extending compassion and sympathy towards him. Just as if he were a loved one, I would want to cultivate non-attachment.

Working at a newspaper, I read a lot of reports of people dying. I try not to be jaded, and I try to remember those who are reported dying. For those with names, I try to recall their names during sitting, as dedication, as recognition, as calling them, their energy, to the teachings, to prayer. There's no reason I shouldn't do the same with this person.

MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2:32 a.m. - Guangdu Temple, night riding.

AUGUST 27, 3:45 p.m.