1. Tim says:

    Thanks, Curt, for a beautiful and unexpected reminder of one of the most powerful forces of nature I’ve had the distinct pleasure to call friend.

  2. Curt says:

    Oh, thank you for the nice comment. But let’s not get soppy. After only 2 weeks this fucker turned my sheets GRAY when I let him stay at my apartment in Seattle! WTF? But seriously folk, it was great to recite this poem at Doc’s Clock in SF where Scott T, Eric M, Elliot and Dema knew who the poem was about.

  3. Henry says:

    Oh dear. I only just found out that Jon died, 11 years after it happened. I’ve been thinking about him recently, as I do every few years, and decided to do a google search. I haven’t seen him since BHS in 1984, when I was thrown out. I can’t believe he’s dead.

    Without ever knowing it, he had an enormous effect on me. I was at school with him in Brookline and lost touch after I left. But he was one of those people that, once met, you just can’t get out of your head. I still remember, word for word, some of the things he said.

    The Jon that you write about it your poem is the Jon I remember.

  4. Curt says:

    Thanks for visiting, Henry. I knew Jon in Boston where we worked together, then he visited my wife and I in both Oregon and Seattle. In Seattle we did Sam Shepard’s “True West.” (I saw him do “Cowboy Mouth” in some cellar in Boston.) Every curtain call we were bloody. It was fucking great.

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