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Rodney, Zappa, and Mac Lit
Rodney O. Lain was the first person I know to write about "Mac literature," and he was perfectly serious. I didn't know him at the time, but I immediately responded with a FARR SITE column called "Help, I'm an Art Form!" The title came from the first Mothers of Invention album, wherein Frank Zappa and the Mothers intoned, "Help, I'm a rock," over and over. It seemed to me at the time to describe a kind of existential awareness of a basic condition or state of being that one could never escape from or ignore. That pretty much describes how it felt to be elevated to the postion of creating "literature" for Mac users, kind of like: "What do you mean, this is my body and I'm stuck with it?"

At the time I was in the self-centered throes of packing and moving, but Rodney had nailed it -- and given it a big kick in the ass! For about a year and a half after that, there was a vigorous period of excellence and experimentation in Mac writing on the Internet. If I tried to name everyone involved, I'd surely leave some out, but Lain, Martellaro, Miller, Lock and others come to mind. Many found a home at Applelinks, which for a time resembled a columnists' salon of sorts. That's all history now. The rare time of grace and beauty came and went, and with it a good deal of our innocence.

Macworld San Francisco 2000 was pivotal, inaugurating a turbulent time of hype, hope, and betrayal. There was melodrama on the Mac Web that January, Rodney fired or quitting (I never did get that straight) over an editorial dispute, he and Tim Robertson in a hotel room high over the city putting the story out for all the world to see. Shortly afterwards, Rodney and I were both hired as online columnists for MacAddict.com, he as "iBrotha" and I as "WebFaust." During our time there, Rodney wrote some of the most ambitious, lewd, punch-in-the-stomach pieces I have ever read. Through the ensuing chaos, broken promises, and our eventually being tossed out with the fish bones and old newspapers, Rodney and I corresponded frequently and profanely. When I look back on it, that was the best part of the entire experience.

See this hole?
I took the picture below at a place called Wild Horse Mesa in southern Colorado. I don't mind telling you where it is because 99.9 percent of you will never see the place, and most of the .1 percent who do will flee in terror. This isn't bragging, just the truth. It's a place more isolated than most of us can imagine. When you finally get to the top of the mountain, you find yourself surrounded by a 360 degree panorama that countains not a single shred of anything you're used to. There isn't any electricity, either, and you can mostly forget about drilling a well. There are properties for sale there, and some people try to make a home, but living hours away from a post office, supermarket, or library and having to have all your water brought in by cowboys driving tank trucks doesn't sit well with most folks. At any given time of the year, realtors here in Taos have several half-completed houses listed for sale up on Wild Horse Mesa. It seems that people start to build, hang out there a while, then find their souls sucked up into the big blue mystery dome above their heads. There really isn't much you can do about that except to run the hell back to wherever you can get a fix of whatever you miss most. Personally, I love the place, but it scares me too.

But back to the hole. The rock formation that makes up the core of the mesa is formed of vertically-tilted layers of mostly volcanic rock, like layered lava flows that later buckled or broke. Maybe I'm wrong about that. I'm no geologist. But there's rock underneath your feet and it's cracked in long running lines everywhere you look. Over the years some of these small fissures have become minature gorges, very dangerous deep rock trenches you could easily fall into and not get out of. Rain and melting snow have carved out numerous caves and pockets, too. The hole in the picture appears to be the uppermost extension of just such a cave. It's barely large enough to put your foot through and doesn't have a discernible bottom. I aimed a light down inside once and couldn't see a thing. If there's a cave down below, it must be very old as well. At the bottom there's probably a conical mound of thousands of skeletons from all the critters that have slipped through and fallen to their deaths. I'd give anything to be able to poke around inside, if another entrance could ever be found.

The point is that such a thing is really spooky and unknowable, the Void itself in microcosm. It's not just scary, but exciting too. You could drop something down inside and never see it again. On the other hand, if you located an entry passage from the side, maybe from one of the deeper fissures I mentioned earlier, you might be able to put your hands on all the things that other people dropped and never saw again: flashlights, daggers, spear points and the like. Who knows? (I just want the skulls.) The void is both the end of and the beginning of all things. If I had that piece of land up on Wild Horse Mesa, that hole would be the life and the death of me, I'm sure, and God knows where the cat would end up.

And now the pain
I don't know why he did it and I don't care -- the doing of it is the main thing. What I mean is, I've been there all too often. The so-called "reasons," such as they may be, are unimportant and defy rational analysis. What matters is the pain, the overwhelming pain. You hurt so much you never think about what would happen to a world without you in it. You hurt so much you think the ones who love you would be better off without you, as crazy as that may sound. You hurt so much you can't do, think, or feel anything except how much you hurt. And that's about as much as I can say, except that I would never own a handgun, ever. I know myself too well.

If there's meaning here, it's what you give it. That's why I wrote about the hole. I've hardly ever had anyone I know die on me, much less blow themselves away. Rest in peace, man. I wish the damn thing had misfired and you'd have had another chance. What a column that would have made. Next time, bro'.

Finally, I urge everyone to read the following commentaries at MyMac.com. The people noted below are all well known to me and what they have to say about Rodney comes from the heart. The MyMac media alert is reproduced here in its entirety:

June 17, 2002- Reflections from the MyMac.com Staff: Rodney O. Lain

Rodney O. Lain --Tim Robertson pauses to remember his friendship with Rodney and questions this shocking turn of events. Please be advised of the use of adult language in this article. http://www.mymac.com/robertson/6.17.02.shtml

For Rodney --Also a friend of Rodney, Beth Lock offers her memories: http://www.mymac.com/beth_lock/6.17.02.shtml

Remembering Rodney --John Martellaro recalls how Rodney "blew the lid off Macintosh commentary." http://www.mymac.com/martellaro/6.17.02.shtml

The Mac web unites people that might not otherwise meet. Some of us at MyMac.com were fortunate enough to know Rodney O. Lain personally, but we all knew the impact of his writing. Our deepest condolences to Rodney's family in this confusing and tragic time.

Senior Applelinks editor and columnist John H. Farr wants everyone to live large and not to be afraid of anything.

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June 10 "Six Weeks Before the Mast" June 3: "Hair, Skin, and Bare Feet" May 27: "I Went on a Trip to Mingus" May 20: "Creative Procrastination" May 13: "It's Ten O'clock!" May 6: "Sagebrush Saga" Apr. 29 "Universe of Lies" Apr. 22: "Earth Day All the Time" Apr. 15: "Oh, THOSE Taxes!" Apr. 8: "Turn Left at the Llamas" Apr. 1: "April Drool" Mar. 25: "Tuzas on the Curb" Mar. 18: "Holy Ghostbeak" Mar. 11: "Lord of the Turkeys" Mar. 4: "The Heart of the Matter" Feb. 25: "New Stuff: Browsers, Servers, etc." Feb. 18: "Mascot Lore & More" Feb. 11: "Killer Email & Wiccan PotLuck" Feb. 4: "Meanies, Guerillas, & Subscription Copycats" Jan. 28: "Full Moon Frenzy, w/ PowerMacs" Jan. 21: "iMacs & Webmaster Schadenfreude" Jan. 14: "Was It Only a Week Ago?" Jan. 7: "Useless Column" Dec. 31, '01: "I Want a Refund"

AUDIO CREDIT: embedded 44k file, European Birds -- Sounds and Sonograms.