Bored at work, googling for people I used to know....and came across this:

"He died May of last year in New York, presumably from some type of pancreatic condition brought on from all his drinking and drugging. I hadn't seen him in about four years, until his wake. Did you know ______ and __________ They're the ones who told me about his death."

Then I found out that his band's album, that I had once, could be worth up to $150. It was banned from all chain stores so is quite rare and out of print.

It's weird that Captain Impossible or the Tattoos didn't tell me. Not that I had even spoken to this guy in over 10 years. It's just odd cos he was indestructible, survived 2 open heart surgeries from stabbings, drank and ingested everything under the sun. Sold another scumf*ck the dope that killed him. I heard he was f*cked up about that. He did the world a favour though - the overdosee was planning a suicide mission where he'd take as many audience members with him as he could.

The one who died from the pancreatic thing, he had a big (bad) influence on my life. I met him 2 days before I moved back to the Midwest after a year in London and New York. Two days of debauchery like I'd never seen before, nor ever would again.

I did not want to go home but New York, or Jersey City, wasn't happening. One shit job to another. I had my plane ticket out when I went to gig, met this guy with a shaved head apart from a multicoloured ponytail at the top, hanging to his waist. Nipple piercings and the poster from A Clockwork Orange tattooed on his back. I've told you before. He was more London than anyone I'd met in New York yet. Introduced me to fetish and various sordidness I could have done without. He's the one who said "I prefer the gutter" as we sped along the Jersey highway and I admired the sparkling jewels of the Manhattan skyline. He's the one who said I should be a go-go dancer. Not 60s like last week but "exotic". He introduced me to the stripper I lived with in Florida. He left me with an obsession for men in white stockings. My first TV. The only thing I have to thank him for.

He messed with my mind for a year, until I got hit by car and came to my senses. But the drag thing, that, as you well know, I never got over. A good healthy pervert, as Mr Tiki-Surfer would say.

Petra