Robert Anton Wilson died last Thursday after a long struggle. If you haven't read The Illuminatus Trilogy, go do that now. It's a lot like Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49, except 20 times longer and a hell of a lot funnier. Get back to me when you're done. I'll wait.
A couple of years ago I was privileged to see the movie about him made in his later years Maybe Logic at the old Durango Film Festival, which renewed my admiration.
Robert Anton Wilson refused to be made ridiculous, either by his critics or by his diseases. Both his sense of humor and his sense of the sublime were extraordinary, even in his last years. He refused to fade away, he raised a ruckus until the end.
*If you're intrigued by the title of this post, and you're too feeble to read Illuminatus, email me and I'll explain it.