Robert Anton Wilson

Oh — I’ll always remember the strange week propped up on a bed in the Hotel Léopold in Algiers (Algeria, not Louisiana) in the very hot late August/early September of 1976 during Ramadan & with my broken down inherited 6-cylinder Volvo sitting forlornly somewhere in the port waiting for help I couldn’t find anybody able to dispense while feverishly translating the first volume of the Illuminatus trilogy into French — which the Paris publisher who had bought the book unread on hear-say at the Frankfurt book fair the previous year, then refused to publish when he did read it in translation as it was not the kind of stuff he wanted to beschmutz his clean tight-assed high-echelon avantgardistic list with. And 10 years ago or so son Joseph borrowed those copies of the trilogy and now they are his — I saw them only yesterday on his shelves in Bay Ridge and felt an urge to look into the books but too busy elsewhere. And now Robert Anton Wilson has immanentized his own eschaton. Hasta luego.