mr ishmael smith b. 1950 d. 2020
Mr Ishmael began this farewell post in the last days of his life, but was unable to complete it. Here's a photo of him, in younger and happier days, in his conservatory with the sea behind him. Here are his last words:
I remember, long ago, writing a stanislav piece on order-order. A while later there was a response from a guy in Australia, saying he'd laughed so much his wife had had to call him a fucking ambulance; there were many such responses and I thought to myself, What a fine thing is this Internet, how sweet, to make strangers laugh until collapse, half a world away.
His was a voice which came and then went, stanislav's; while Snotty Brown and his ruinous crew were wicked and insane they lent themselves to satire and lampoonery, they still do; the arrival, however, of Dave the PigFucker, the Zombie, Osborne and Nick Clegg cast a darker, humourless shadow on the public discourse, the burning of the wheelchairs and the closing of the libraries wasn't remotely funny and in any event stanislav had left, never to return; these commentaries, in which so many have kindly participated, succeeded his -what? - his antic disposition, maybe, with a more sober, albeit splenetic and irreverent tenor.