Wes, mate. What the fuck.
Books of blackness bringing light. Expressions of pain. Words so beautiful, insightful, pure.
Wes was the best guitarist I ever met.
There were times we got so close. We dream-shared. Sleeping in adjacent rooms, waking the next morning from a lucid dream featuring each other and discussing it in detail, sharing the same dream consciously proved to us without doubt that such a thing is possible. Shamanic. Can't lead a normal life when you go through stuff like that. Can't fit in to the demands of the normal world which demands we must be crazy to believe in spirituality and put it first and foremost above all other things.
Nobody gave Wes enough attention because when we did it was heavy sharing in what he had to process in his inner world. Wes was plutonic, saturnalian, self-destructive in a hedonism necessary to escape the pain he confronted.
Then he met the most beautiful, wonderful, adorable and dedicated girlfriend imaginable. I don't know her, I heard so much positive about her and their love together.
But we always knew Wes time here was gonna be cut short. He told me once, he had seen the moment his death. I told him if we know the future we have a duty to change it. Fuck fate, we make our own. It had a gravity he could never escape from, not fully. It happened the way he described it.
Wes is a poet who left books of his thoughts. Sometimes he couldn't create and when he did it was magic.
He passed away on Valentines Day 2026, ever the romantic soul.
We all miss you.
What happened after in his wake is a part of his teaching. The people who loved him pulled closer and sorted out their hateful differences; which is all he ever really wanted. Wes did what was necessary to make that happen. He was the strongest of us all.
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