Death Over Runs My Position, My Location in The Mystic

In my efforts to evade the constabulary and ignite the mutiny, I have not disclosed my position.



But death has found and over run my position, my location.



I was given refuge in The Mystic in the garden shed of my friend Phil Crazy-Like-A-Fox.



Phil was a fucking lunatic.



When he was 17 years-old in Andover (the same college prep academy that gee dub went to) and on his way to Yale, Phil was afflicted with the archetypal pathogens of schizophrenia.



Instead of being on the inside track of the business-as-usual's (bau) highest possibilities, he became an institutionalized drug stupefied non-being.



But Phil had the courage to rise up and not be forever fallen. He broke through the stupefaction and non-being of the "anti-psychotic drugs". He rode his bicycle many miles to work at the nastiest, dirtiest jobs in a boat yard. He mastered the mediums of the boat paint, epoxy, fiberglass. And he transcended these mediums and realized the higher possibilities of art, the artful depicting of the being in a special, eternal, haunted moment. The artful depicting of the reality of a fallen angel. (There will be an exhibition of Phil's paintings at the Emporium in Mystic.)



In the end ephedrine (the legal speed sold at gas stations and convenience stores) became his favored substance of abuse. He said that it reliably enabled him to break through the stupefied non-being of the anti-psychotics, the stupefied non-being of b-a-u. He said it made the moment special - every moment the 4th of July.



He took way too much. Last Sunday, June 17, Phil blew up his heart, and was dead before he hit his kitchen's floor.



He was 51 years-old.



Those who know him, know something of his story, believe he died at Andover, thirty-four years ago, when his highest possibilities of the b-a-u died.



Schizophrenia was, no doubt, the end of Phil's life of the b-a-u. But, perhaps, it was the beginning of his true life, the life of the not-business-as-usual (n-b-a-u), the life of the higher and further possibilities of the n-b-a-u, Phil's life as an artist, musician, and the higher, further possibilities of a fucking lunatic. No doubt death is the end of the life of the b-a-u. And yet, perhaps, it is a new beginning in the realization of the further and higher possibilities of the Human in the n-b-a-u.



Phil's intent when he gave the narrative of his life was to persuade the listener (there weren't many) that he was The One, that he was The Christ, that he was a Prophet, Master-of-Time, The Future Man.



But people close to him persuaded him that it was horribly arrogant to call yourself The Christ.



Phil would then try to persuade the listener (there weren't many) that he was John The Baptist.



I am guilty of being reluctant to be persuaded.



But I now declare:



Phil is The Christ!



Phil is John The Baptist!



Phil is Future Man!



Phil is The One!



Love ya bruddah - already miss ya.



And now that my position, my location has been over-run by death, I will soon be expelled from his garden, from the refuge of the garden shed.



But the mutiny - continues.