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.....It could be that they do think about who is going to find them ( or not ) and that casts a melodramatic sheen over the whole notion ; maybe helps someone nudge themself to the point of the irrevocable act......of course, all this transpiring at " center stage " w/ the unwitting cleaner-uppers seated in the audience somewhere beyond the footlights ..... hard to make out their faces and all. Maybe you don't love anybody when you do this.

Interesting to mention Malcolm X. Is there a connection between the wickedly trenchant observer ( H.T. ) and the equally insightful , and articulate M.X. ? Have we , the big old culturati/ consumers out here , lavishly confused personal theatrics w/ the BIG drama we're all mixed up in. Was H.T. more compelling than his best writing ? I don't think so. If H.T. was a one -trick pony , ( Las Vegas junket w/ his Samoan "attorney" ) it was one hell of a trick. ( and F-U-N-N-Y , to boot ) If anything , WE may have steadfastly misunderstood BOTH men's vision. ( ?) Decked out in a couple of different guises the danger shone through the two of them. - brook trout


you look hot, btw


Gosh you're right, maybe they DO think about who is going to find them. Though it seems to me that the people I know who have succeeded at killing themselves didn't think of much but themselves if that. But what do we know, outside the body of the head that can do that? Though I don't know if you will kill yourself, I doubt this is a thing anyone can ever "understand". There's no figuring it out, it merely is. Weighty and messy and sad from all angles.

My point w/mentioning M.X within this ('how we die') context is "ironic". As in look at the difference between these deaths and I suppose look at how it is we define "danger" or look at what "we" culturati/consumers revere.

I can't speak to HT's entire body of work. There are alot of people out t/here who he was important to. I've read, I've savored/laughed/marveled, I've also been unimpressed & gone "Eh." All in all I don't think I can speak w/authority about it or his death so what's left but questions.


Whenever I read or hear of a tragic ending like this my mind/heart/being remembers the call I got from my uncle Michael about his brother/my father doing the same thing in an anonymous motel room.

After the call, all I could do was stare out across the FQ rooftops and wonder if he was finally free. At the same time, I feared that this shitty example of how to deal with life and the problems that life so often presents was now too close for comfort. I thought "when will I be in that position of making what is by far the most philosophical of questions - to live under all the pressures (broke, no money; broken hearted (or breaker of hearts); forgone opportunities; etc) or to throw in the towel?"

I very much agree with your assessment that drugging and drinking are the chemical culprits here. The irony is that these same agents have brought many (if not most) of us to an edge where we felt fully alive, free of our hang ups and willing to take chances.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all who have survived the suicide of a loved one. There are no words sufficient enough to embrace this totality and absolute (death is free of maybe, it just is), but we are survivors, we are survivors.


Well said. To chew on this a little further I'm thinking about this that you wrote:
"The irony is that these same agents have brought many (if not most) of us to an edge where we felt fully alive, free of our hang ups and willing to take chances."

I think about trees, trees don't need to get soused to feel alive. Cats, they don't need to swallow or snort anything to take risks. But beyond "non-humans" ... KIDS. Kids don't need to shoot up to feel free. It seems more true to me that all the addictions & crutches & so forth are more about trying to silence the traces of voices memories of loss and abuse and such that seem designed to seperate us from our "true" nature. So the freedom I get from cocktails is not the real freedom, not the real risk taking, not a real lusty unashamed stab at life but rather a mimic of it.


A mimic of life, rather that wide wild eye embrace of it. Yes, that is so true.

Much of our childhood passion was killed upon arrival in the place we call home, not to mention society and cultural sham games.

And now I digress - You know the ceremonies that Sallie Glassman has at her house a often are chance to glimpse (and sometimes fully dive into) our truer natures. These natures are diverse in their color, tone and behavior. Sallie provides a safe place for this theatre of the soul/self to take a stride on earth. A chance to greet/become our warriors, our forever "in love" (who always depart shedding real tears), our clowns, our guardians. I never touch a drop of booze, a puff of weed prior to attending these ceremonies. Nothing should be in the way of the spirits' arrival.

The death of HST may have happened well before this weekend. It is sad to lose any of our heros, our voices of (non)reason, but it is even sadder for us to forget the hero and voice within.

"Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool's gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying." Dylan

P.S. I am still itching to record you guys.


Ah HA! I thought it was you even before the identifying P.S. Let's talk! Let's make our happenings happen!



I don't know how to reach you, so email me that info -


Thanks for writing about Tobey. I heared he had passed, but did'nt know how it happend. I was his baby-sitter for a while here in Detroit.

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