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This is what broke it open for me. Matt Gersting died. And I said that over and over again in my head, out loud, typed it; just cause it was a fact, and true, but it made no sense. Matt Gersting died. It was easy to say and it meant nothing and it didn't hurt. It took almost two days but now it does hurt and it hurts a lot. Like I get up in the morning and it just sucks.

I don't know this person or this facebook group but I knew Matt Gersting and he WAS loved by hundreds of people. Which is pretty fucking astonishing when you think about it. Think about 100 people. Can you name 100 people? Can you name 100 friends? Can you name 100 people who love you who you are not related to? One hundred. Name 100 numbers between 1 and 100.

Being in a band is a bizarre sometimes public manifestation -- at best  -- of friendships, or at worst -- relationships, much like being in a gang. I was in a gang with Matt Gersting. Inasmuch as it meant me playing sand paper every third song, we were in the same gang for a while.

But he was in like 20 gangs! He was loved by hundreds of people.

He was loved by more than 1 hundreds of people.

I moved into his house


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