Damn you’ve been around the grief block, eh. This is a beautiful tribute and you’re creating something even more beautiful to honour such an incredible part of your life, very inspired. 💗 We rock hard enough for those who can’t anymore. 🤘
Every time I think I can't scream into the void anymore, I read just how loud everyone else is shouting, and I realise I ain't made any noise worth hearing yet. This could be an amplifier, its own fog horn or the distant rumble of the entire universe as it's slowly eating itself for breakfast just because it can. Don't worry about what it is, might be, or could be. Do that instinct thing you do, then double down again. It will move and change and grow and fail and grow again, but if anyone can actually make something meaningful happen in this social media asylum that is Substack... I would put all my money on you, sir.
She defied natural law at every single turn. Patron saint of junkies. She was the head scientist at the only needle exchange in Missouri. She was a veteran stripper and royalty on the east side, where all the clubs are. She had 2 PhDs, dual: neuroscience and pharmacology. She traveled the world, desperately collecting as many joys and experiences as she could. She taught neuroscience in Spain. She saw Felix da Housekat in Ibiza, she hired a second line to follow her down Bourbon Street in New Orleans playing Sexual Healing on repeat when she tie dyed her wedding dress after she got divorced. She always had narcan, food, a blanket, and kept her the sideboard of her Mini filled with spare cash. She stopped and talked to all the addicts and street people, who knew her by name as Miss Sarah. She believed in me as a writer. She said I was too smart for my own good. She was community minded. If she knew you, she'd give you her last dollar. She was a staunch socialist. But she knew how capitalism operated. So even if she made 2,000 stripping, if you asked her for 1,500 to cover bills or an emergency expense, she'd give it to you. She was ludicrous. To this day I honestly believe that we bonded so closely because every man fell in love with her. She was that one. Up until the very end. I never fell in love with her. We bonded over literature, music, David Foster Wallace's The Girl with Curious Hair, Japanese horror movies, music, but I never once was smitten or twitterpated over her. Even out of practice, her knowledge of her fields was encyclopedic and complete.
She was a good author but said I was insane for writing.
She was an amazing artist but only showed her art to her friends. I have more of her paintings than anyone but her mother.
She was the most compartmentalized person I've ever known and me and one other person, Stephanie, our friend who had cancer, were the only people who had the keys to every room and knew every secret.
Icarus flew too close to the sun in a myth where the sun was embodied as close enough to seemingly exist inside the blue layer of our heavenly sphere. No, she escaped orbit. Sarah Yvonne Sottile, Trixie Firecracker, Bear, Evelyn Milquetoast, she was a genuine space oddity.
The last message I sent her was "Ground control to major Bear?"
She really made the grade, but she'd already stepped through the door.
May this Rainbow Rat spread hope and joy and fucking glitter everywhere, as much as the rats carried fleas which spread bubonic plague all over Britain, Europe and beyond, way back when. Love me a naked tail.
Typing this out while sneaking a respite from a car trip.
Thank you for spelling Carl’s last name right. This is one project I REALLY hope goes somewhere. It’s the mixture of community and support network that I’ve been beating my head against a door for the last month trying to figure out.
I don’t even know if it’s feasible.
But maybe.
“As a someone who has been to too many funerals: this feels right.” and fuck, ain’t that the truth.
This is grief with gold teeth. A cult built from ash and memes. Che and Fidel in one body, cracked out and holy. You flipped pain into a movement not just a moment. I feel the fire.
Thanks, brother, I’m working out the details but it’s recently become apparent this is something we could use around here. It solves problems and helps people. It’s just a concept until it isn’t, and I plan to get it spun up by the end of the week. This is one of those compliments I want to etch in brass and put on a plaque.
And if you have any ideas on how to make this less bootstrapped and more official in some way, I don't know shit about business past hustling and having ideas that may or may not be workable. (This SOUNDED theoretically workable. Time will tell.) So, if you have any suggestions or wisdom, please for the love of god email me.
Damn you’ve been around the grief block, eh. This is a beautiful tribute and you’re creating something even more beautiful to honour such an incredible part of your life, very inspired. 💗 We rock hard enough for those who can’t anymore. 🤘
Every time I think I can't scream into the void anymore, I read just how loud everyone else is shouting, and I realise I ain't made any noise worth hearing yet. This could be an amplifier, its own fog horn or the distant rumble of the entire universe as it's slowly eating itself for breakfast just because it can. Don't worry about what it is, might be, or could be. Do that instinct thing you do, then double down again. It will move and change and grow and fail and grow again, but if anyone can actually make something meaningful happen in this social media asylum that is Substack... I would put all my money on you, sir.
I guess all I can say is 👆👆👆
hell yeah. great idea. i’ll support however i can
She sounded like an icarus child - the type that gets too close to sun, but whilst there, is glorious all those who look up.
Also: fuck cancer. I've got no idea where this is going or what the outcome will be, but I'm always up for messy chaos and good writing.
She defied natural law at every single turn. Patron saint of junkies. She was the head scientist at the only needle exchange in Missouri. She was a veteran stripper and royalty on the east side, where all the clubs are. She had 2 PhDs, dual: neuroscience and pharmacology. She traveled the world, desperately collecting as many joys and experiences as she could. She taught neuroscience in Spain. She saw Felix da Housekat in Ibiza, she hired a second line to follow her down Bourbon Street in New Orleans playing Sexual Healing on repeat when she tie dyed her wedding dress after she got divorced. She always had narcan, food, a blanket, and kept her the sideboard of her Mini filled with spare cash. She stopped and talked to all the addicts and street people, who knew her by name as Miss Sarah. She believed in me as a writer. She said I was too smart for my own good. She was community minded. If she knew you, she'd give you her last dollar. She was a staunch socialist. But she knew how capitalism operated. So even if she made 2,000 stripping, if you asked her for 1,500 to cover bills or an emergency expense, she'd give it to you. She was ludicrous. To this day I honestly believe that we bonded so closely because every man fell in love with her. She was that one. Up until the very end. I never fell in love with her. We bonded over literature, music, David Foster Wallace's The Girl with Curious Hair, Japanese horror movies, music, but I never once was smitten or twitterpated over her. Even out of practice, her knowledge of her fields was encyclopedic and complete.
She was a good author but said I was insane for writing.
She was an amazing artist but only showed her art to her friends. I have more of her paintings than anyone but her mother.
She was the most compartmentalized person I've ever known and me and one other person, Stephanie, our friend who had cancer, were the only people who had the keys to every room and knew every secret.
Icarus flew too close to the sun in a myth where the sun was embodied as close enough to seemingly exist inside the blue layer of our heavenly sphere. No, she escaped orbit. Sarah Yvonne Sottile, Trixie Firecracker, Bear, Evelyn Milquetoast, she was a genuine space oddity.
The last message I sent her was "Ground control to major Bear?"
She really made the grade, but she'd already stepped through the door.
May this Rainbow Rat spread hope and joy and fucking glitter everywhere, as much as the rats carried fleas which spread bubonic plague all over Britain, Europe and beyond, way back when. Love me a naked tail.
Typing this out while sneaking a respite from a car trip.
Enjoy your trip! Hopefully this is just the start.
OF COURSE this started with Carl Brutananadilewski’s “this don’t matter, none of this matters”
There is so much damn heart in this concept it is staggering. As a reader: I’m hella excited for this taste-making.
As a someone who has been to too many funerals: this feels right.
Thank you for spelling Carl’s last name right. This is one project I REALLY hope goes somewhere. It’s the mixture of community and support network that I’ve been beating my head against a door for the last month trying to figure out.
I don’t even know if it’s feasible.
But maybe.
“As a someone who has been to too many funerals: this feels right.” and fuck, ain’t that the truth.
Oh, you KNOW Carl Carl Brutananadilewski's brand of nihilism is rampant BOH for pizza.
It's worth an honest try, and I'll be pushing it hard as I can.
Erm...
let me just think abou...
HUZZAH FOR THE RAT...THE RAINBOW RAT AND TWICE MORE HUZZAHH!
Hes to move the needle first. This is concept. Proof of concept is going to be another thing entirely.
This ripped my fucking heart out, I'm in.
Gucci, thank you. Still working up the pub, but ideally a soft launch next Sunday, hard Launch on the 29th.
This is grief with gold teeth. A cult built from ash and memes. Che and Fidel in one body, cracked out and holy. You flipped pain into a movement not just a moment. I feel the fire.
Thanks, brother, I’m working out the details but it’s recently become apparent this is something we could use around here. It solves problems and helps people. It’s just a concept until it isn’t, and I plan to get it spun up by the end of the week. This is one of those compliments I want to etch in brass and put on a plaque.
And if you have any ideas on how to make this less bootstrapped and more official in some way, I don't know shit about business past hustling and having ideas that may or may not be workable. (This SOUNDED theoretically workable. Time will tell.) So, if you have any suggestions or wisdom, please for the love of god email me.