Robert Anton Wilson died today. I have only given him a passing thought here and there in recent years, though I know he’s been ill for a while. His books changed my life in a way your life can only be changed when you are not yet 16. I’ll repeat what I said elsewhere: I mourn RAW’s passing like one would a distant relative of whom you have fond memories of being one the greatest storytellers of your childhood but with whom you lost touch as you grew older. I’m sad to see him go and yet glad that he left behind so many words for future generations.