I just heard the news: Robert Anton Wilson died yesterday. He was an eclectic, synthetic, creative mind, and I miss him already. I never met him, but his books made a stong impact on both my adolescent psyche and my mature aesthetics. Simon’s Rock, the end of the eighties: Victoria loaned me her copy of Illuminatus!, driving more cracks into an already-crumbling shell of Lutheranism. Not long thereafter I found Prometheus Rising, Schroedinger’s Cat, and others.
After leaving the Rock, I realized that I was episkopos of my own Discordian splinter, the Order of the A.’.A.’. (the Aboriginal Aubergine, for the truth is that Eris rolled a golden eggplant into the feast on the Mount, not some tatty apple). Since then, Bob’s books have helped me keep my world a bit broader, a bit funnier, and a bit stranger than it might otherwise have been.
Thanks, Bob, and Goddess speed.