The Good, the Bad, and the Otherwise

Some of the following are responses I got from my own family and friends, many of whom met Cosmo or knew him while studying in Madison. Since I assume these people didn’t send their comments to be posted on the blog--they were just responding to the sad news--I will leave the writers unidentified. I post a response to the last. --E.M.

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That's rotten news. Well, goodbye Pumpkin.

I'll be moving back to Wisconsin this summer to take up a new post at U.W. Oshkosh. I'll have to make a side-trip to Rio to leave a fitting memorial at the Last Man's samadhi. --J.F.

* * *
I’m so sad to hear that Cosmo died. Do you remember the second time I went with you to his apartment? I was charmed at how he showed me his collection of what he deemed to be original works of art. He was such a unique person in so many ways. I know it must have been tough for you to hear of his passing.

As I think of his life, I can only believe it was a blessing for him to be living in Madison, where he could find joy and be appreciated by many different people. Most other places would not be accepting of him. Isn't that a sad thing to have to say about the world we live in? Madison gave him a place to experience joy and friendship.

I know Cosmo is in a very special place now because that's where he belongs. --M.M.

* * *
That's sad news. I remember meeting him for the first time. He said he had been in Bosnia, where a gas container or some such ripped open and injured him. --H.H.

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Big shock for all of us. I was down on State St. a couple of days before Coz died. He looked a bit rough around the edges. He seemed to be playing with a rough crowd.

As I walked about it seemed there were gangster types controlling portions of the street. I wouldn't be too suprised to find out someone gave Coz a "Hot Shot" to get him out of the way. . . It's really a different place.

I know you and Coz spent a lot of time together. I on the other hand casually knew Bob since 1981. He helped me install the air conditioner in my Studio in 1984. I helped him move in 2000 or so. He had been homeless for 3 months. His social worker said he was too picky and he told me he couldn't live in the "dives" they showed him. When we were moving his stuff he offered to sell me his air conditioner. We agreed on $50.00. I carried the thing home and plugged it in to find it didn't even work. When next I visited State St. he came into S&B asking where his $150.00 was. That was a topic of contention for 5 years until I just paid him another $25.00.

Many people liked Coz. He always seemed to always have nice things to say. . . unless you bought an air conditioner from him. In that case it was the way he saw it and that was it. I actually started to tell him I was charging him storage.

He'll be missed by many people. --M.D.

* * *
I’ve just spent a good 45 minutes poring over the news of Cosmo di Madison. Shocking that his death seemed to result from malnourishment. Yes, he was divinely skinny.

As for your writings, it seems respectful, a matter of "getting him right," that you chose to approach his stories with absolute seriousness.

There really should be a film made about him. One whose message is the brilliance of one on the edge. I have read those who have responded to the Capital Times article. Some people are obviously aggravated by Cosmo being regarded as a novelty of sorts. Compelling mosh pit of disjointed opinions on how one who is seen as “flawed” or extra-ordinary should be memorialized. There are some parallels with Jesus here, aren’t there? --K.M.

Dear K.:

Of course many people would jump at the mention of Jesus, and say it was ridiculous. But I think it's legitimate to compare anyone to Jesus, especially any Christian who takes it upon him or herself to pass on the good news or to imitate Jesus in some way. One of the important devotional texts of the Middle Ages, after all, was Thomas a Kempis' Imitation of Christ. However unorthodox in some of his statements, Cosmo was deeply pious and certainly spent a lot of his time preaching. So why not compare him to Jesus?

But I can see what you're getting at in comparing Cosmo and Jesus--you're specifically concerned mainly with the matter of the crowd’s reaction to each. And of each we may certainly say: he was a troublemaker. Or to clarify: he was off base; he was not to be ignored; he was a man with a sharp tongue; he had a giant heart. These descriptions apply to both.

(One longtime Madisonian who bought an air conditioner would beg to differ on the "giant heart" part, sure, but even so. . . .)

As for making a film of Cosmo’s life, it is, sadly, too late. There was a student film, a very short documentary, made when I was at Steep ‘n Brew, but that is now lost. One of the goals of the film was to capture Cosmo’s laugh, which was divine in its way. But you know what? Though the Man’s laugh echoed round Madison’s downtown on many an afternoon, the student who made the film never managed to capture it. And you know what else? Though I myself recorded him a handful of times, I never got his laugh on tape either. Cosmo’s laugh seemed to know when there were recording devices around, and would not let itself be pinned down.

So now I wonder--when people read Gospels from the Last Man, people, for instance, who never knew Cosmo, and they come to the Baaaahhhh-hhhhhaaaahh-hhhahhh-hhhaaaaahhhh! can they really imagine what is represented by those letters. I think they can’t.

Regarding the malnutrition issue, I just put up a post on the blog that tries to address some aspects of it. I don't know if I got it right or not. Also we don't know, really, what he died from. But I can guess, pretty well, what Cosmo would say he died from if we could communicate with his spirit, if we could, say, ring him up where he rests at present. I believe he’d say something like this:

They fuckin' got me, the bastards! They finally fuckin’ got me! . . . Kissinger's people, who do you fucking think? I had 'em covered, but I can't do everything. I mean it's one thing to keep al Qaeda and the Venezuelan mafia out of Madison--they don't even PAY me to do that--but now we got this BOZO in the White House who doesn't fucking listen to what I tell him and my boys are busy 24-7 and there must have been a slip-up because I had 27 fucking aneurisms in less than a minute and of course I fucking died. . . .

What? . . . Oh, it's not bad here. The music is kinda bad--I'm gonna have to talk to someone about that--but at least they don't fucking try to drug you every time you put something in your mouth. . . .

No, I don't really have a body here. It’s not a body, honey. It's more like a clatification of my former body, the estiff is different. . . Yeah, everyone’s like that here, we're all claffidated and waiting for the final dalphation. . . .

I miss you too, honey, but listen, if you're in Madison you better get your ass out of town because once word gets out what happened to me you're gonna have every fuckin' terrorist and drug king pin on the planet swarming around for a piece of the action. Psssh! I bet they already starting making pornography right on the street corner. 'C'mon, little girl, we'll make you famous, me and my friend here from Hollywood! C'mon, just do what we tell ya now.' Ya hear me? It's fucking sick! Ya hear me? Ya hear me, don't ya?. . .

No, I haven't met him yet. . . . No. . . . I don't know why because he should be here to meet me. . . . No, I think they put me in the wrong level. . . . Don't worry, doll. They'll get it straightened out. . . . No, everything's fine. . . . Only the music. . . . Yeah me, too, doll. . . .

Yeah, I know. Look, I gotta go. There's something I gotta take care of. . . . Yeah, I love you too, doll. I'll talk to you next time. Or when you get here--if you fucking get here. . . . No, I just mean you gotta keep it clean. You need to be a little more serious about things, Eric. Just keep it clean, no monkey business. . . Listen, I really gotta go. I got something they want me to take care of. . . . Yeah. Seeya. . . .

I’m not sure how close I got to the voice this time. In the past I almost always worked from notes; now I have to do my best to hear him through the spirit. But I think that’d be about what Cosmo would say.

Best,

Eric

Flying Saucers: Providing Cosmic Sustenance

Hi, Eric:

I'm so glad you've taken on the responsibility of master of ceremonies for this virtual memorial. Not sure if you remember me: I used to work at Amy's, around the same time you worked at Steep'n Brew. (I've attached a picture to jog your memory, but you'll mentally have to shave about 20 pounds off of this image to get to what I looked like back then.)

Anyhow, I first heard about Cos' phase change yesterday, as news travels slowly to Cleveland, OH. I received an email from my friend Otis who also worked at Amy's back then. Memories flooded back faster than I could track them.

Here is my brick for the monument:

I worked at Amy's Cafe from 1988-1995, first in the kitchen, then the bar. One of my primary job responsibilities was serving Coz "flying saucers" when owner Tom Paras was not around. The flying saucer consisted of 8-10 slices of "all the cheeses, pumpkin," about a quarter cup of Dusseldorf mustard, a handful of hot peppers and onions in a whole wheat pita, nuked for about 3 times the amount of time required to completely melt the cheese. For the ambitious host or hostess, a flying saucer is best served with a gallon of milk or 3 iced coffees. It is critical, however, that you not add poison to the coffee, as poisoned coffee has been shown to interfere with the digestion of the flying saucer.

After closing the kitchen at Amy's, I would often accept Coz' invitation back to his apartment across the street to jam. Sometimes I would accompany on guitar as Coz created Roscoe Mitchell-esque lines on the recorder. Sometimes, we would play guitar duets, but only after Coz had painstakingly detuned both guitars to perfection. His alternate tunings explored the nether regions of the microtone in a way that would make Schoenberg sound like Petula Clark by comparison. Often, however, we would just chainsmoke and take in the beauty of the original Picassos and Rembrandts that adorned the walls of Coz' apartment (who knew that such treasures could be found at Goodwill?) while listening to Iron Butterfly, on vinyl of course.

I was always charmed by how sweet and gentle Cosmo was when chatting with my mother on her occasional visits to Madison. He alone realized that she was in fact Queen Elizabeth (the second) and treated her with all due reverence. I was also intrigued by his family tree: it is not every day that one meets the lovechild of James Dean (who was actually Mahatma Gandhi) and Judy Garland. Imagine my surprise upon learning that these celebrated parents were murdered by Jimmy Carter, who is in fact a vampire. The story darkens further when one learns that Coz' psychiatrist is Henry Kissinger and that Dr. Kissinger has, for years, been attempting to poison him, sometimes with the help of John Mitchell.

But there were bright spots as well: Coz was fortunate enough to have his wives, Donna Shalala and Edie Brickell, keeping the home fires burning for him.

Of course I had my own secrets, often hidden even from myself. It took Coz' clarity to help me discover that I was the head of the Israeli underground. Coz was no fan of the policies of the Israeli government, but my position did not cause friction between us because he also helped me to remember that I was using my position to subvert the hostile policies of Israel towards the Palestinians. I was one of the "good Jews."

I have to stop myself now. It's been so easy for me to remember all the laughter and entertainment that Coz (always willingly and with that love of the spotlight) provided us. I remember equally well the intimidating first impression he made on so many. But he was, above all, a great friend and a skilled observer, with keen intuition about the emotional state of those close to him. He was an extraordinary judge of character (most of the time). The more time we spent together, the more accustomed I grew to the logic of his universe, couched as it was in his language which blended the tropes of politics, history, religion and rock 'n roll into a singular form of discourse that proved to be truly cohesive. Furthermore, it was apparent that, as with many entertainers, his own pain and adversity provided much of the fuel for his art and for the breadth of his often overlooked humanity.

Best wishes,

Dan Kamionkowski
Cleveland, OH
dankam@earthlink.net


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I remember you well, Dan, and Otis too. I much appreciate this brick you’ve added: there’s so much in it that is familiar. We knew the Man at the same time, after all, and heard him discourse on much the same range of issues.

But I appreciate your post for another reason too: it helps clarify a little about one of the Cosmic mysteries--namely, his super-subtle diet.

Considering that most of Cosmo’s current friends in Madison believe his death can be attributed to his low calorie intake, it may be that Amy’s was in fact crucial during those years for maintaining the Cosmic substance. The problem is not of course that Cosmo was malnourished through a lack of money or available food--or through neglect on the part of people watching out for him. It was rather that he was so incredibly particular about what he ate, and when he ate.

That Amy’s was right there across from his place on Gilman (the disguised ancient Phoenician building he lived in) meant that if he was in the mood to eat, he could just stop in and someone would be there who knew how to prepare what he was willing to eat. In other words: Who knows but that you guys at Amy’s, and at the other eateries around State, literally kept Cosmo alive during those years?

I myself only saw him eat on a couple occasions. One of those times was at Amy’s. I don’t know what it meant for him to have groceries in the house--how often he actually ate at home. I’d have to ask Annie McGuire more about this, as she was his case manager over recent years.

But it seems to me it was a tough case all around. You couldn’t simply force Cosmo to eat if he didn’t want to: he was a vegetarian, he had an unpredictable appetite, and most of the time the food around him was suspect--of having been poisoned, for example. You guys at Amy's were a godsend, I'd guess.

Thanks for the great post, Dan.

Eric