Reverend Urine, as some of us called him, dug deep into life's dumpsters and brought back real joy. I first met him late 1980's, thought him not a beatnik, not a hippie, not a punk, but somehow all three. He had obviously come from hell, yet his batteries of irony, wit, and satire were still fully charged. In some way he was transmuting all the fear, pain, anger, and grief of America's dying culture into the artful amusements of his own personal "Anarcho-Pan-Thelemik Kultur Fest". Though I found him mostly unreliable in cooperative projects and business affairs, he still managed to be both an excellent friend, and an honest voice in many group discussions. At a highly stressful time in my life he would often come through with accurate enough sarcasm to remind me to laugh at myself. I was sorry to see him go off to Austin, but he loved Ariadne and Becky and Alex very much, and he was clearly happier than when I first got to know him, so I knew he was doing the right thing.
When I heard he had lung cancer I can't say I was surprised, after all he did smoke a lot of cigarettes, and live on junk food, and do other things that are not reputed to be healthy, but I, like everyone else in our community, still harbored the hope that such a rare and valuable being would, against all odds, pull through. But he didn't. And we can't do anything about it, except miss him. He was one choice Thelemite. Though he didn't have an exceptionally long life, he did have the love of many, many people, and of at least one god. So I close this tribute with one of Criss' favorite verses from a particular author's works:
With the might
and by the rite