I just found out he left the realm on January 11th. Why the world did not weep or laugh more audibly that day is a mystery for the ages. I knew he was sick. We sent him 23.23 pounds sterling (Hail Eris) to help with medical bills a few months ago when we heard. He may have died a pauper, but at least he was never a goddamned wage slave. His books shaped the way I think, the way I try to operate in the world, my perceptions of time, space, coincidence, and "truth."
Here is (what seems to be) his last blog entry, dated January 6th:
"Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.
Please pardon my levity, I don't see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd."
Rest in Chaos
Robert Anton Wilson
January 18, 1932- who knows?
Author, philosopher, speaker, guru, essayist, psychologist, dope-smoker, magician, space man, pope, agnostic, and all around enigmatic Coyote hero.
If you haven't already- go read Prometheus Rising.
Then stand on your head and read it again.
Then read some Tim Leary and read it again.