As the Christmas season approaches, I wanted to pen one more musing. Not some Hallmark, It's A Wonderful Life sappy missive, just a non sequitur note.
I am an avid reader and require something, usually several somethings to occupy myself. Between, Smithsonian Magazine, National Geographic, and usually a work of non-fiction and one of fiction, I keep out of trouble. Yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. However, this week I found myself with nothing to read. I didn't want to start anything new because Christmas is just days away. I know I will receive books, which I will want to start immediately. In order to fill the time before December 25, I perused my bookcase and decided to re-read, Dreaming of Babylon by Richard Brautigan.
I have always found him interesting. He began his professional writing career in San Francisco among the Beats in the mid-late 50s. Brautigan's work did not achieve any success until the late 60s. That was ironic because while he became associated with the counter culture, and worked with the Diggers and the Communication Company in the Haight-Ashbury district, he loathed "the hippie scene".His 1968 work, In Watermelon Sugar, is set in a post-apocalyptic commune called iDeath. I find that amusing. This was virtually four decades before the "i" craze - iPhones, iPads, iMarketing, etc. While I don't see him as a mystic, I can help but sense the irony of Brautigan using the lower case i in the name iDeath - rather prophetic I must say.
By the mid-70s, his popularity waned. He still wrote, but never achieved the critical or popular acclaim he experienced during the late 60s. Two of my favorite novels of his, Dreaming of Babylon and The Hawkline Monster, were both written in the late 70s. Neither are among his most read works. Maybe that is why I like them so much.
Alcoholism and depression plagued Brautigan his entire life. In 1984, at 49 years old, he killed himself with a .44 Magnum to the head. The date is assumed to be September 19. Assumed because his body was not discovered until late October with the body in advanced decomposition. I remember reading about it back then. The newspaper article mentioned his suicide note, "Messy, isn't it?" From his work, I connoted his sense of humor. Thinking of him writing this before putting such a large caliber weapon to his head seemed apropos.
Unfortunately, I have since found out that this story was apocryphal. No note was left. For some reason, that left me sadder. As ever - BB
"All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds." - Richard Brautigan
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