I woke up early Thursday to a message from Sasha Grey titled “Sleazy Passed.” She’d sent it at 5:30 AM and said, among other things, “Now I know how people felt when MJ died … I think.” A certain strain of listeners and makers, those following paths moving outside of the usual pop cultural histories, know exactly what she means. After I read her note, I did some online searching and confirmed that Peter “Sleazy” Christopherson — a founding member of Throbbing Gristle and Coil (with his partner Geoffrey Rushton, aka John Balance), a member of Psychic TV and SoiSong, the mind behind the solo project, The Threshold HouseBoys Choir, a great graphic designer, video director, etc. — had, in fact, died in his sleep on 11/24 at the age of 55. As his TG bandmates Chris Carter and Cosey Fanni Tutti simultaneously tweeted that morning: “Our dearest beautiful Sleazy left this mortal coil as he slept in peace last night. words cannot express our grief.” The news made me feel like a part of me had also passed — a young, questing kid in a small working-class farm town inspired by Sleazy’s experimental and transgressive sounds, by his bookish intelligence and radical personal choices. That inspiration continued via the strength and calm in this post he made over the summer in the comments section of an interview he did with the Quietus. It’s a response to someone worried about his health:
We are all only temporary curators of our present bodies, which will all decay, sooner or later. In a hundred years or so ALL the humans currently alive will have died. I take great comfort in knowing, with certainty, that thing that makes us special, able to enrich our own lives and those of others, will not cease when our bodies do, but will be just starting and new (and hopefully even better) adventure… If we don’t get to meet in this Life, maybe in the next you can buy me a beer!
As a teenager, I followed the path from hardcore and metal to SST and etc., but it was the “weirder” sounds of Swans, Throbbing Gristle, Current 93, etc., that led me into deeper, darker, and more extreme places. It’s an unending path, one I went on about last week, a few days before Christopherson’s passing. (And, actually, a few weeks before that when posting a couple songs from Sasha’s band aTelecene.) It’s a path that goes beyond music.
For these and other reasons Sasha and I immediately started working on a memorial, asking various artists for their thoughts on Christopherson. Not surprisingly, people had beautiful, heartfelt things to say. Read through these texts by Sasha, Zola Jesus, Tamaryn, Drew Daniel (Matmos), Dominick Fernow (Cold Cave, Prurient), Gatekeeper, Daniel Lopatin, Locrian, Bloodyminded, Todd Pendu, and Wierd Records head Pieter Schoolwerth, among others, to get an idea of his influence.
Sleazy’s words, his strength, his pride … his music. He was one of the first artists who made me feel confident with simply being me.
I’ll never find the right words to quite express my admiration and utter respect for him.
The first time I heard TG.
My excitement when Coil would announce new limited releases.
Shit, the first time I heard Coil.
The few, brief silly emails we exchanged.
I’m forever grateful to have met him last year when TG played in LA. As he parted ways with his fellow band mates, roadies, and tour manager into his van, he happily smiled, waved, and warmly said, “Safe travels.”
Safe travels indeed, may you continue to inspire generations.
Nika Roza Danilova, Zola Jesus
It doesn’t seem real to lose such a formidable icon of transgression and sonic invention. His part in Throbbing Gristle and the legend he left with Coil is something that will forever be stamped into our bones. Peter helped create the war we will continue to fight against all that is boring and tired. Oh Sleazy, you are in us all and we are all in you. You left the world too soon, but your future is infinite.
R. Loren, Pyramids, Sailors With Wax Wings, White Moth
I was fresh into high school when I decided to, yet again, raid my older sister’s stash of music. Her taste was strange and eclectic — everything from Billy Ocean’s “Caribbean Queen” on 45, to a landmark album that would open my mind to a world of ideas I had yet to explore — Coil’s Love’s Secret Domain. In a single listen, the album’s juxtaposition of push and pull, and unorthodox instrumentation captivated me, and would spearhead my journey towards Scatology, an earlier release that would become so deeply embedded in me that it would germinate and resurface years later, manifesting in my own philosophy of approaches to production. The production. There is a sonic quality that permeates everything Peter got his hands on that has yet to be successfully achieved by any other artist. Sadly, with his passing, there is a tremendous void that will be left for many years until someone figures out the ways of the late genius. Though irony may not be the word, I have his MySpace profile permanently etched into my mind from the countless times I stared at it pondering whether or not to contact him about collaborating on the Sailors With Wax Wings and White Moth albums. Looking back now, I wish I would have reached out to him, even to have the briefest exchange. With Balance already gone, the loss of Sleazy renders a void left by a band whose influence will continue to be immeasurable for decades to come.
Definitely a Machine Music OG. Peter Christopherson and TG liberated electronic music & the sounds of the city from the Musique Concrète nerds. Christopherson played a huge role in constructing an entirely new more “open” cultural milieu in the arts that would go on to definite the following decades…
Peter Christopherson has now influenced a couple generations in the way of artistic expression, originality in design, and even new views of the occult. He has left behind a prolific body of work that anyone who’s looking for original thought in music or design must explore. Sleazy will be missed by a vast group of people who dared to seek out the important and challenging, myself included. He is gone but the artist’s legacy lives through the work always.
Dominick Fernow, Prurient, Cold Cave, Ash Pool
When I first heard about Industrial Music in the early ’90s, it was impossible to find much of anything besides the Swamp Terrorists. I heard rumors of an album with a title that held the anachronism for L.S.D. My friends and I searched for the it in all the locations possible to a Midwestern pre-Internet teen with zero success … Until we found a copy of the Love’s Secret Domain CD in a jazz record shop in Madison, Wisconsin. It was priced higher than all the other discs — this only added to its mystery. When we took it home expecting to hear the overwhelming inhuman machine sounds of this supposed “Industrial” Music, our conceptions were again challenged by the clean, cold and organized Coil in contrast with the rough cover painting of ritualistic ejaculation. Upon our first taste, the discovery only led to a greater question mark of what exactly ‘Industrial’ was.
Daniel Lopatin, Oneohtrix Point Never, Games
God bless you Sleazy; you were an innovator. Welcome to love’s secret domain.
André Foisy, Locrian
“Paradise Stands in the Shadow of Swords”
It’s been less than a week since the untimely death of Peter Christopherson, an artist whose influence on my own work is unquantifiable and unqualifiable in words. The music of Coil, Throbbing Gristle, and early Psychic TV was the soundtrack to some of the most important years of my life. Without Sleazy, the music of Locrian would have been very different. Making dark music seemed so intuitive for Peter. I was always particularly drawn to his work due to this quality. Unfortunately, the world is a much darker place with out Sleazy in it. He left this mortal coil as a “wrecker of civilization.” If only, we could all be so proud.
Pieter Schoolwerth, Wierd Records
Coil’s Scatology is one of the greatest pieces of recorded music in the past 50 years. For all the lost and wandering loners of the world such as myself at the time, its arrival came as a welcoming extended muscular hand of relief from a far away planet. The feverishly intense, poisonous darkness of the songs enveloped me with their pathos-fueled human warmth. Seethingly erotic, fantastically violent, yet intricately fragile, vulnerable, and beautiful, this masterpiece and the three brilliant albums to follow each systematically opened up onto an expansive new landscape of massive musical potential whose historical importance is yet to be realized to this day.
Like so many of my lifelong musical heroes I never knew Peter. But from the few, brief fragmentary interviews I sought out at the time in obscure Japanese and Italian fanzines and the wild tales I heard from friends fortunate enough to meet him back in the golden age of industrial music, it was clear that Peter lived a viscerally rich, proper life entirely in private — enjoying the sweet, virile pleasures of young male flesh, devouring the obtuse literary giants from A.O. Spare to Borges to Deleuze who infected his work, and entrenching himself in the infinite mathematical complexities of chaos magick long before it had a website with a Paypal button. To the brutally suffocating gaze of the popular eye, Coil barely existed in the pre-Internet days, never performing live but rather remaining intentionally enshrouded in a profound, fiercely perverted, intimidating cultish mythos that was the ultimate rockstar glamour — and a beacon of hope for this dejected young American teenager thousands of miles away … and always will be. This radical contrast between the band’s private life and elusively charismatic public persona and discography was evidence of an admirable restraint, and one which should come as a wake up call and inspiration to young artists today, as they desperately blog and Twitter themselves into abstract oblivion.
Above all Peter’s life and work represent to me a truly dignified resistance — not just to mainstream music and culture but to the entire modern world…his was a force and an incredible spirit that are very rare today … and one which will be terribly and sadly missed.
Todd Pendu, Pendu NYC
On November 25th, at 5:30 am after hanging out with some friends and having a great evening at the Wierd Records Weekly Party in Manhattan, I came home to my Brooklyn apartment and was stunned when I turned on my computer to see someone had posted on Facebook “RIP Sleazy”… A completely sobering moment as I hoped somehow the information was wrong … I began searching the Internet to learn more. A moment later, I came across the now “infamous” Twitter feed from Chris Carter confirming that the news was true. I was hit with so many thoughts. It was hard to believe that he was gone. It was just weeks before that Throbbing Gristle announced yet again that they were broken up and just as quickly the excitement began as to what the new project with Chris, Cosey, and Sleazy as X-TG was going to be like. It was quite a hard hit as I read those words over again just to be sure. An outpouring of both celebration and mourning began.
Sleazy’s work has been a major influence on my life as it has so many others. As a teenager, I got into magick via Anton Lavey via Death Metal, but the real stuff came after I got into Coil and Thee Temple of Psychic Youth/Psychic TV. It was through Sleazy and John Balance that I became aware of the great English magickian Austin Osman Spare and began my own journey into Chaos Magick. It was Coil that became some kind of beacon, a cosmic light shining upon a new un-treaded path that ended the old and tired ideas of punk rock nihilism for me opening the doors of mysticism through alchemy, magick, music, and sex. The philosophical direction of my organization Pendu NYC reflects the influence of Sleazy as well as my solo electronics project known as CM (aka Chaos Majik) devoted to exploring ritual in sound as well as themes of sex magick and esotericism. Although I am singularly and individualistically on my own path, it is doubtful that I would be doing what I do now had I not discovered Coil first. At the same time, I can’t say that I was one of those guys who grew up on Coil and Psychic TV. Earlier on, it was the music of Throbbing Gristle that interested me and not so much the projects that TG split up into (a total mistake in retrospect I freely admit now). I remember in the early ’90s listening to Love’s Secret Domain at other friends’ houses mostly as background music to get high to but it’s real power and influence didn’t hit me until around 1996 when I really began to “understand” what I had only “heard” earlier. When I went to see Death In June on their first American tour in ‘97, the entire connection of Coil, Nurse With Wound, Current 93 began to form and I had to get my hands on everything else after that. It was then that I began to dig deeper and learn the roles of Sleazy and what his contributions really were as a member of TG and in the forming of TOPY/Psychic TV and Coil. His blending of surrealism, humor, and experimental sounds from acid house to bleak soundscapes became an endless source of inspiration. Unfortunately, I never did get to meet “Unkle sleaZ”. My project, CM, was invited to play the Equinox Festival in London back in June of 2009 and I was billed to play the same day as the Threshold HouseBoys Choir, but I had to cancel and was unable to perform.
Sleazy remained an innovator as an artist throughout his life.He never stopped finding new technologies to work with. He never got stuck in an “era”. He never stopped working and doing what he loved. His late projects as SoiSong and Threshold HouseBoys Choir were completely exciting, unique, and ever-forward thinking. He was vital all the way up until November 25, 2010 and it is important to applaud that vitality. I am quite sure he will find ways to channel his energy and spirit to us continuously and without end into the future. As it is, I am thankful that he was here on earth and gave us so much while he was here. His is not a sad story; it’s a story to celebrate. There is no doubt in my mind that Coil’s influence will be acknowledged more frequently in the immediate future by younger artists as one of the most influential groups for the newer sounds of the 2010’s and on. Sleazy, we love you, and you will always be remembered affectionately. .:. 23 .:.
Caleb Braaten, Sacred Bones Records
Throbbing Gristle is obviously one of the most important group of artists in recent musical history, but for me Peter’s work with Coil is what I will always remember him by. One of my fondest memories growing up is many early morning drives home (from long nights hanging out with friends), listening to my tape of Horse Rotorvator. There was was always something magical about listening to that as the sun rose.
Mark Solotroff, Anatomy of Habit, BLOODYMINDED
It goes without saying that when I started my first band, Intrinsic Action, in 1984, the specter of Throbbing Gristle was looming over us in a sizable way. How could they not have been, back then? But Peter Christopherson’s artistic ascendancy had likely affected me much earlier, even if I did not exactly know it, at the time. Key album sleeves designed by Hipgnosis were among the most monumental icons of my formative music years and they remain timeless to me. While I have not paid close attention to Christopherson’s later musical output, I am still totally aware of the breadth of his work. And if I had to focus on only one thing to pay homage to, I can easily state that to this day, I rate Coil’s Scatology as one of my all-time favorite albums. Back in 1984, nothing else sounded like it, and I think that it remains untouchable, no matter which post-industrial artists attempt to best it. Scatology offered me a set of musical blueprints that showed me how to work with things like tension, dark atmospheres, dynamics, noise, repetition, and outrageously sinister themes -– but it also taught me that a fundamentally catchy song could still arise from such a disconcerting mix of elements. This is something that I think has been pretty much forgotten within the contemporary noise scene, another part of Christopherson’s legacy. And it was not lost on me that the album contained an assortment of weighty musical collaborators -– a primary interest of mine from that early Some Bizarre era –- and something that continues to have a profound effect on me in my own musical associations. Christopherson’s influence loomed large when I began making music and I imagine that it will continue to be there as I keep on creating and growing as an artist, exposed to the process once more…
Drew Daniel, Matmos, Soft Pink Truth
NOTHING HERE NOW BUT THE RECORDINGS?
Sentimentality about death seems oddly inappropriate to the artistic legacy of Sleazy. Consider his infamously provocative installation in the shop window of the BOY boutique in London: carefully constructed prosthetic objects that resemble the burnt and morcellated remains of a young boy’s body, material scraps and fragments, a dead person turned into meat under glass for everyone to gawk at. No funeral wreaths or dozens of roses here. Much of the material he assembled in the electronic compositions of Throbbing Gristle and Coil and in his video and audio work for Threshold HouseBoys Choir zoomed in on moments of extreme sensation, including — though never exclusively so — gruesome evidence of pain, torture and death. Yet there is a current of mournful sympathy within his work too. Consider the elegiac “Ostia,” a Coil song lamenting the death of Pier Paolo Pasolini: an emotionally florid and expressive meditation upon loss and grief at the departure of a passionately admired presence. Perhaps the threatening feeling circulating throughout this work — a feeling of being brought “too close” to the sight/sound of intense states of existence — was not a coldly reductive agenda but a means of forcing listener or viewer into an experience in which mechanisms of sympathy and fellow-feeling work all too well. We flinch when we watch the razor upon the tongue because we share a living system with those upon the screen, a warm body that feels and suffers. Of course, pain in art gives pleasure, but whose pleasure is being stimulated here, and on what terms? These kinds of interpretations at an aesthetic remove consumed my experience of listening to his work while growing up. I wanted to understand what was happening inside the records, but also to know something simpler and more basic: who are these people that made this and what are they up to?
This buzz of awe and creepy fascination is a constant when people narrate their adolescent experiences of consuming Coil and TG and Psychic TV records. But it left me rather unprepared for Sleazy the human being, whom I met for the first time in Barcelona at the SONAR festival a decade ago: sensitive, quiet, but neither solemn nor self-important. A bona fide real person, more inclined to twinkle than to snarl. Having imagined his romantic partnership with his partner Geff (aka Jhonn Balance) as the benchmark of queer life/love/art-making throughout my own closeted teenage years, it was both thrilling and eerie to hang out with them and watch them interact. During our long, intoxicating and rather decadent nights out together at various gay bars and backrooms, and in the daylight conversations that followed, the division of labor between Geff and Sleazy was apparent, with Geff ravenous for fun and nightlife and Sleazy guarded, protective. When I spent time with both of them, Geff easily uttered five sentences to every one statement that Sleazy put forward. Mercurial and chatty, Jhonn/Geff was a kind of kite that Sleazy held by a string whose length extended and retracted as manic and glum states oscillated.
In the wake of Geff’s death, I next saw Sleazy at the Brainwaves festival curated by Jon Whitney of the Brainwashed site. With many former Coil collaborators or allies upon the bill, the centerpiece of the festival was a performance by Sleazy as Threshold HouseBoys Choir. In a Hawaiian shirt, delivering onstage banter in a glibly chatty manner about his life and working methods, the performance was a weird, jarring, and beautiful exercise in self-deconstruction. As he played tangy melodic loops of ethnic percussion and synths while peering at a VCR and small screen onstage showing a tape of some writhing young man in a dubious state pitched between discomfort and ecstasy, we felt that we were watching him rehearse at home for the very concert that was taking place onstage. A wormhole opened in the time and space between Massachusetts and Thailand. My band Matmos was also on the bill, and at Jon Whitney’s personal request, we performed a cover of Coil’s “The Anal Staircase” and dedicated it to the memory of Geff. I don’t credit the performance itself with any particular power, but I sensed that the communal context of so many people who were all united by a feeling of inspiration that had flowed from Coil’s artistic example had briefly invoked Geff’s memory in a public way that seemed to hit a nerve for Sleazy. Backstage afterward, I was startled and moved to see tears in Sleazy’s eyes. He hugged me and thanked me, and we talked about Geff and remembered him together. Sleazy insisted in a direct and literal way that Geff was not really gone, and I was left speechless by this disclosure. What I saw Sleazy express was something other than grief that I did not really understand and couldn’t presume to share. I will just say that it was a singular stance of fidelity.
The next period of contact with Sleazy was a series of emails and phone conversations through SKYPE as I worked on a book about the Throbbing Gristle album 20 Jazz Funk Greats. Sleazy was generous with his time, a stickler for trying to remember long ago recording details, and genuinely cross with himself when, inevitably, his memory failed him. His accounts of his life in Bangkok suggested that with Geff’s death a radical transformation had been called for, and that he had found in Thailand a new perspective and a truce with the past. Over the phone, prodding him to return to his work for Hipgnosis and with TG, I sensed that, however proud he was of that past work, he had genuinely and truly moved in a different direction and that that was part of the difficultly in returning, even in a friendly and productive conversation. Even as TG reformed and presented its classic material alongside new work and a new album, there was a strong sense that one had to resist a certain nostalgic falsity. Accordingly, even the old songs were presented in a transformed manner, with new tape recordings spiking “Persuasion” along its old, dark path.
The last time I saw Sleazy was backstage in Chicago after the TG reunion concert, chatting with their longtime manager and friend Paul Smith, and joking with the members of Emeralds, who had opened the concert. He repeated his generous invitation to my boyfriend Martin and I to come and visit him in Bangkok. Gen described the fun that they had had together, and I sensed the long, loving circuits of affection between Sleazy and Gen and Chris and Cosey as four partners in a collective organism. We’ll have to do that, Martin and I said to each other in a silent couple look, blithely assuming that Sleazy would live forever and that the door would always be open. The knowledge of his death shuts that possibility down, and so many others. I am frustrated that the potential for TG and/or X-TG has been cruelly and arbitrarily cut-off, and that the sound design and video work with Threshold HouseBoys Choir will never grow and develop further. As someone who knew Sleazy only casually, and always refracted through the lens of a persistent fandom, he strikes me as someone who had a great deal still to impart and transmit. In the wake of his sudden exit, many have circulated and held on to an interview in which he indicates a transcendent Buddhist attitude towards bodily death and loss. Lacking that undoubtedly wise perspective myself, I remain stuck on the stubbornly material plane in which he is now dead. I miss him, and can only hold fast to the enduringly ambiguous force of his work. All we have are things, records, information, bodies that suffer and the traces they inscribe. Thinking about how to summarize what Sleazy leaves behind, a William S. Burroughs quote much beloved of TG tethers me to the earth: “Nothing here now but the recordings.” But a Coil lyric from “Titan Arch” about the afterlife of ancient deities promises otherwise. Facing down extinction, its linking couplet summons an irresistible image of Geff and Sleazy, now poised arm in arm: “they walk serene / in spaces between.”
In addition to the above contributions, I (Brandon) recommend reading England’s Hidden Reverse: A Secret History Of The Esoteric Underground (Coil, Current 93, Nurse With Wound), if you haven’t. You should also have a look at the blogs of his longtime collaborators Chris Carter and Cosey Fanni Tutti. There’s also a remembrance at the Throbbing Gristle and Coil sites. Jon at Brainwashed put together thoughts from various fans like David Tibet and Diamanda Galas.
UPDATE: Genesis P-Orridge posted a eulogy:
PETER “SLEAZY” CHRISTOPHERSON
27th February 1955 – 24th November 2010
You never expect to be writing a eulogy about your deepest and beloved friends when you meet them and they glide into your loops of L-if-E so sleekly, so boldly and with such confidence that it is like one of Nature’s perfectly designed dynamic creatures following its instinct home to where it began. You never expect to hear, without forewarning, that you have lost another dear and treasured member of your chosen, freely embraced famille.
We have written several pages already trying to write a eulogy/obituary. But it read too dry. It turned into being about facts and dates and becomes a fake entry in Wikipedia! That’s not what we are feeling and it’s NOT what we want to give to Sleazy at this horrible moment that shocked everyone so unexpectedly. My dear friend Bee in Bangkok emailed me the news. “Sleazy died in his sleep last night Genny.” What do you say? FUCK! It is the slap of a hand on a wall, the crash of a fist on a kitchen table, it is the utter failure of our words to express a feeling! Your mind slides into turmoil. How? What now? Who knows? … Over and over. Who will take care of him? We imagine Bee, and various of his beloved extended famille that he nurtured, supported and cared so deeply for in Bangkok. Sleazy had built his special paradise there. He died there in his haven, amongst his friends, with his dogs, as gentle and peaceful as death can be for we humans. He went to sleep and never woke up perfecting.
We had the great fortune to visit Sleazy at his previous “compound”. A beautiful place to retreat to in between the hectic, stressful life of “work.” With my friend HannaH we had come from Kathmandhu where we had done a puja for Lady Jaye who passed away in 2007. Sleazy had prepared an air conditioned room. Clean linen. Peace and quiet. Food appeared miraculously, clothes were laundered … we had gin and tonics in his “dipping pool” every day at 4pm and we talked of death and loss. Sometimes he held me gently in his arms as we cried. He spoke of Jjonn and how hard that loss had been. We’d both been through a horror of finding our “Other Half” dying at our feet and both been treated awfully by the cops on the scene. My lifelong friendship with Sleazy deepened even further into an unbreakable bond of love as we relived this together and we have treasured ever since those days in Thailand.
We had, needless to say, always loved Sleazy since those early times when we all found his new “real” name so easily adopted. Of course, all families, even those spawning wreckers of civilization, have their little squabbles and minor issues over the years. What is amazing is that our chosen famille (Chris, Cosey, Sleazy and me) weathered thirty-six years despite being attacked and hammered by international newspapers, TV media, the Legal Establishment, and music, art and other rivals. Despite all our various trials and tribulations, “something special almost magical would happen to TG onstage” as Cosey says. The mysterious chemistry that made TG so unique as a unit. Sleazy was an astounding talent. During his prolific phase with COIL he developed new visionary methods of mixing sound and video in ways akin in their radicalism to Rembrandt’s breakthrough with catching light itself within the oil and pigment. For me it is his deftness and precision with minutely accurate sounds or shadows that made him so worthy of the honoured name “Master”.
Sleazy was a huge part of my life creatively during our 36 year friendship. He joined COUM; was an incalculable part of the process and experiment that was and remains TG.; he followed me into Psychic TV to collaborate in two classic albums with Alex Fergusson, Ken Thomas and myself; with Monte Cazazza he actively brainstormed concepts and attitudes towards the creation of Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth. During that first year or so of T.O.P.Y. a young schoolboy called Geff Rushton turned up at my house in Beck Road Hackney. He wanted an interview about “sex magick.” We called Sleazy and said,”We think YOU will be the perfect person to be interviewed by Geff, will you do it?”, because Sleazy wasn’t keen on interviews much back then. Anyway, Geff went, Sleazy did the interview and “one of them got the job.” This turned out to be Sleazy’s “BIG LOVE” and they both went on to create COIL and be a huge worldwide influence on what became, with the parallel influence of David Tibet (also named during his bootcamp times with PTV and TOPY) known as DARK FOLK etc.
Talking of influences, it was Sleazy who discovered Mr Sebastian in 1980 without who we, and hundreds of TOPY Individuals, PTV fans and readers of the Research Book “Modern Primitives” wouldn’t have been pierced. Sleazy loved Bangkok and Thailand. He had been visiting regularly for several years before deciding to move there permanently after Jjonn/Geff passed on. While we were spending time in 2009 with him we were pretty sick from the intense emotional stress of our ceremony in Nepal for the reliving and releasing of a beloved. Sleazy became a source of every suture for my heart, loving sustenance for my soul. He nurtured me with words of wise counsel garnered from his own similar and tragic losses. There had been a long sometimes desolate expanse between the seventies and now. But we had both crossed our abyss and we were blessed by Sleazy’s loving nature to be able to accept his gentle embrace and, crying like a child we often are, be able to lovingly say to him, “I HAVE GOT MY FRIEND BACK.” Many times, since then, we have stopped during hard times, confusing times, and we think of Sleazy and how his mastery of light went from cameras to hearts and souls, and that makes me smile and laugh. Which is as he would wish. We loved Sleazy in all he did…
[Photo by Greg Cristman]