The Long, Winding Cypress Path
In Memoriam. Julio Anguita. May 2020. The good die young they say. The good oldies die, too. Briefly, the good die. Whilst the bastards seem to thrive like venomous weeds. Well, probably Entropy IS the Mother of Us All indeed.
Two little Haida birds have come to join me in my grief. Another light gone from my increasingly darker sky. Another lucid mind, another clean heart gone up the cypress path. Another twin soul leaves the fraught stage. And I here, like a lemon, feeling once more like a serial orphan. Fortunately he’s leaving behind a substantial heritage. We shall not see his like again but with a bit of luck we’ll see pretty good approximations. And as I never tire of saying, perhaps is a good thing he’s gone now, before things get so unbelievably ugly that even the stoutest of hearts might feel tempted to throw the sponge, or pawn the towel, or whatever it is that one does when ones gives up an curls up and croaks. Personally I often have the feeling that maybe it is time my subatomic particles joined the club of the Dearly Departed. And then my particles, and Rosa’s particles and don Julio’s particles’ and William “Billy the Kid”’s particles and my friend Ash’s particles can get together and have a good gossip and play Race you to Alpha Centauri! games with the neutrinos. Losing games, I know, but it’s the though, the intention wot counts.
Goodbye, don Julito, darling mine. . I raise my glass and my fist to you. You live, even in death.
Here, have a nice article/obituary and a shufti with soundtrack & all of the man himself (Spanish only), and un po’ di suitable mu’. Also a grand week, if you can get it.