He wasn't looking for gossip, he actually wanted to understand the mechanics. Peter used to quiz me carefully on the art market-how value was assigned, how consensus was formed, how that economy functioned, and how it could be manipulated. (He told me he never suffered writer’s block even for one day.) The artists were always delighted with his texts, as he was clearly one of them. Not only did he never miss a deadline, he always handed the work in early and it never needed editing. His essays were a rare blend of scholarship and imagination, free of art world jargon. In those days I was organizing a lot of museum and gallery exhibitions, and he soon became my first choice as author for those publications. A lot of things with Peter were like that: a combination of privacy, and good manners. I know he had a spiritual practice based on his ten years with the Sufis of Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, and Iran, but the practice was deeply internalized, he didn’t need to discuss it. Optimist was too fatuous for him he preferred to call himself an anti-pessimist. He considered nihilism the ultimate failing. He had a wonderful sense of humor, seldom cynical or even ironic. Exquisitely articulate, he was never verbose. Peter was discreet and courteous, and in all the years I knew him I never heard him gossip or say an ill word against anyone. The public image was something of a Holy Monster, while the private individual was warm, humble, and wholly dedicated to his vocation as writer. He was very much like William Burroughs in this regard. I was aware of the Chaos Broadsheets (1985) that were later collected as Temporary Autonomous Zones ( T.A.Z., 1991), but back then, like most people, I had no idea Hakim Bey and PLW were the same person.īy the late 1990s I got to know him and realized there were two Peter Wilsons, the public and the private. This last point is not remarked on enough. (Although best known for his illuminating writings on Sufism, his explications of Taoism are equally lucid.) Yes, they were erudite and esoteric, but most importantly they were readable and entertaining. In theory and concept, they were in a category of their own. When Sho wer of Stars: The Initiatic Dream in Sufism and Taoism (1996) appeared I knew this was a major figure. Later I discovered Scandal: Essays in Islamic Heresy (1988) and Sacred Drift (1993), PLW’s books on “outsider” aspects of Islam-very rare information. And after every show the same NYC cab driver was waiting outside the station, eager to ride him home for free, as a token of gratitude, or perhaps to spend another fifteen minutes in his presence. It was like wandering through the airwaves equivalent of a Middle Eastern bazaar. The epitome of geniality, there was something all-knowing about him, a radio wizard. His free-associative patter was erudite and accessible, witty but never forced. In a deep and mellifluous voice, he told stories and read from zines, took phone calls from his listeners, and played music cassettes collected on his travels in Afghanistan, Iran, Bali, and Ireland. His program was called the Moorish Orthodox Radio Crusade and it was freeform FM radio at its finest. My introduction to PLW was not through his writings but through his after-midnight radio show on WBAI, Manhattan’s branch of Pacifica public radio.
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