Hail & Farewell from Stoners Blough

A founding member of the original swimclub died last week. Oddly he was the ex-brother-in-law to Michael Davis of the MC-5 and as far as I can tell they died on the same day, of the same cause.

We had chatted briefly a few times on Facebook but I had not seen him in person since the early ‘90’s, as he had become a determined left coaster and once my grandmother died I had no cause to go back to Seattle except that it’s one of my favourite cities. Too bad for poverty eh?

Randall was both my friend and my nemesis. He was scathingly brilliant, witty as shit, and at times completely amoral. He once framed me for a thief when he himself had been the thief. This has rankled in my soul for years, as I have done all kinds of things in my life but deliberately gave up thievery at a quite young age, as well as that I have a huge issue with stealing within the tribe. He had no such qualms at the time. And given the circumstances there was no particular reason for anyone to believe I had such qualms. I really felt the sting of that scarlet letter T within that community, still do, I just don’t wear it on the outside anymore.

But prior to, and even later after all of that, he was my good friend. Early on he was my housemate for awhile. We had such a blast. At least until he abruptly abandoned the house and his 8 foot boa constrictor there. Which having two very elderly cats and being really nervous of feeding a really hungry, really large, snake became a serious issue for me. Someone finally did come for her after I threatened to sell her.

Swimclub was where my memories of him shine. His humour, his magic tricks, his natty outfits, his ability to construct suddenly critically necessary things from weird scrap and “ordinary household items”, his willingness to go gonzo into any adventure that arose. He was, at times, truly a mesmer. When he was sharp, focused, playful, “evil twin Vic” he was terrifically fun. When he was “do what thou wilt shall be the sum of law” Vic, not so much. I’ve never been a Crowley fan and within that community his influence was seriously not helpful.

But the rage at the time was to live primarily from your shadow self. And there is some serious beauty in that realm. We were all so young, so lordly, so dead earnest about it all. There are winter shadows foreshortened onto glittering snowdrifts and long summer shadows on parched pavements. Many of us couldn’t or wouldn’t, make the journey into integration. And when looking at ones aging self, in the trophic light of the daily rat race it is not easy to keep that keen, sharp, edge of humour that helps keep despair squimped down to its proper supplicant position. So one lets go this time when Yama approaches, yet again, from behind the left shoulder. Why not? He is our old familiar after all. And who doesn’t ache for that moment of rest, and then another cast.

FOTO Credits:
#1 Unknown
#2 Christina LaNoire