Kerry Thornley, Madman at Large
Kerry in the 60s
by adrien rain burke
There is no political point here, no moral, probably no meaning. I
do hope you find it amusing. I am simply determined that Kerry Thornley's crazy mixed-up memory should live forever. Really. . . .Adrien
Kerry Thonley was a friend of mine - as far as it is possible to have a
raving paranoid for a friend - and a friend also of Robert Anton Wilson, a
service buddy of Lee Harvey Oswald, a named enemy of Jim Garrison, and he
once testified before the Warren Commission - which makes the Warren
Commission sound more than ever like something out of Alice and Wonderland.
Come to think of it, Kerry could play ALL the parts, (exceptin' Alice.) He
was also probably a potentially very dangerous guy, though he never seems to
have realized that potential.
When I first got on the net, I mentioned to a
correspondent that I once knew the founder of something called Discordianism
(Hail Eris! Hail Discordia!) and found out that Discordianism has a
semiserious following on the net and there are pages dedicated to Kerry (who
probably never owned a computer thank god) and to his various personnae -
Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst and Ho Chi Zen, founder of Zenarchy and others too
numerous to remember.
Another of the many organizations he founded was the
FCC - the Fucking Communist Conspiracy. It all began when someone on late
night tv in Vegas accidentally broadcast a porn film. The idea was that
anytime anything like that happened, the FCC would call up some authority
and take credit for it. He was also the publisher/editor of The Promise'
Land Times, an anarchist newpaper often written entirely in rhyme - in fact
he hired me to design the "flag" for this long lost "wallpaper" (and
actually paid me, though I offered to just do it for him, knowing he worked
for minimum wage - or less. He was an
itinerant nut, and crazy as a bedbug, but he had style) which he had
printed from time to time - on red paper - and pasted on telephone poles all
over town.
I met him when we both had lousy underpaid overworked jobs on
the last small town newspaper (now defunct, of course) in L.A.'s last small
town, Tujunga. In spite of his mental illness, Kerry had somehow kept a fine
sense of humor and was a great writer and a strange lone crusader who
criss-crossed the country, pursued, he believed, by a vast conspiracy with
powers and depths of treachery that bordered on the supernatural, clad
usually in red, orange, and yellow clothiing - (camouflaged for a fire,
perhaps?).
Oddly enough, I have run into people who have at
least heard of Discordianism, but not of Kerry, and don't seem to have
noticed that it is essentially a joke (though some people must have noticed
it). OK, a cosmic joke. And I am gratified that his weird theories have a
life of their own - though I do wish they were better understood.
But he was
quite insane. Once I lent him my copy of E F Schumaker's Small is Beautiful
and a few weeks later, asked him what he thought of it. He looked at the
ground and shamefacedly told me he'd had to throw it out. His television
had told him to. A friend, standing nearby, mumbled by all means one
mustn't offend one's appliances. . . . . . .
When I found him on the
internet after not having seem him for years (and of course, he left no
forwarding address or footprints or strange marks on the air or anytiing!) I
was saddened to discover that Kerry was dead. Yet he maintains a lively
presence on the net. so even Discordianism provides Life after Death.
Kerry Thornley shortly before his death
And here are Kerry's own immortal words:
The New Discordian Dispensation
As Revealed in the Midnight Hour
of the Ninth Day of January
in the Year of Our Chaos 1997.
With this Epiphany, Kerry Wendell Thornley, the Legendary Discordian
Nonprophet Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst, launches his Exclusive Cyberdomain under
the Benevolent Protection of the Erisian Elestria, Most High Priestess of
the Apocalyptic Dawn. Hail Eris!
Thus the Nonprophet speaks:
As an early Church Father of the Discordian religion, I am often slapped
with paternity suits. No, seriously, I am often called upon to settle points
of doctrine, such as "Please tell So-and-So that he or she doesn't
understand Discordianism, and I do."
In the first place, how do you know So-and-So doesn't understand
Discordianism, if you don't even know what sex he or she is? And what is all
this shit about who does or does not understand Discordianism? Who the hell
cares?
If Discordianism was meant to be understood, it would be like Zen Buddhism.
The greatest of all Discordians, Malaclypse the Younger, doesn't understand
anything whatsoever about the religion he co-founded.
Only I, Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst, Bullgoose of the Discordian Orthodoxy, can
really tell you what it's all about. And why should I? After all, I don't
even know what sex you are. Moreover, Discordians are warned against
personal contact with one another. Any theology to which I made significant
contributions is going to attract plenty of screwballs.
Then again, if you want to spend the rest of your life arguing with some nut
who believes flying saucers are only the first wave, to be followed soon by
flying cups, that's your business. Why should I care if you get involved
with the Manson Family or become a brainwashed zombie in a cult run by a
crackpot who calls himself the Nine-Legged Jesus?
Incidentally enough, I once received a Christmas card from a member of the
Manson Family, namely Charles. In return for that honor, I appointed Charley
Manson the Discordian Superintendent of Sunday Schools.
Discordianism has accomplished much in a short period of time, all without
being understood by anybody. In the early seventies, for instance, our
saint, Doctor Van Van Mojo, made a beeswax graven image of Jehovah and stuck
pins in it, thus giving birth to the God is Dead theology. But Discordian
Crazy Lou says God is not dead, he is just drunk. If so, you can bet it was
a Discordian who bought him the booze.
Don't get us wrong, we don't just assassinate the deities of a few rival
religions and then rest on our laurels. Recently we made a great theological
discovery: Eris Discordia, our Goddess, is infallible -- (Hail, Eris!) --
but that does not mean she won't lie.
Our incessant research on the historical Eris and the Primitive Discordian
Society has been unearthing startling lost ignorance, right and left. Take
the Last Supper, for instance. In our faith, there is a First Brunch,
according to the Dead Fish Scrolls, which have just been translated.
That's right, Malaclypse the Elder and Diogenes got the idea for the Erisian
religion over brunch in a Greek (of course) deli in Athens. Although the
entire dialogue of this meeting is available, it is difficult to read in the
original because the scribe encoded it by writing the entire book, cover
included, upside down. Why, is anybody's guess.
In those days we found nobody ever killed you as a heretic or a cultist for
starting a new religion. The Greeks figured the more religions the better.
That way, all the gods would be happy. They needed to be kept in good moods
for various reasons.
Shortly after the First Brunch, before the Second Brunch, the Temple of
Erisian Mysteries was designed by Malaclypse the Elder -- a vast,
bewildering maze, and the only edifice in the world larger on the inside
than on the outside.
In the late 1960's when Pope Paul removed St. Patrick from the Catholic
calendar of saints, our greatest accomplishment of all transpired; to wit,
St. Patrick was added to the Discordian calendar of saints. Malaclypse the
Younger sent the Pope an inspired letter of gratitude and a Pope card.
Now that St. Patrick is safely under the patronage and protection of the
Discordian Society, we can tell you why the Catholics ousted him. St.
Patrick, you see, was gay. When St. Patrick was a Catholic saint, the Pope
got to say whatever he wanted about the old mick. Well, now he's our saint,
and we are all popes.
St. Patrick hated snakes -- good snakes, bad snakes, big snakes, he didn't
care -- nor did he have much use for homophobes. Nowadays, there are no
snakes in Ireland. Many homophobes, however, remain. So in honor of St.
Patrick, we Discordians propose restoring a little balance to the situation.
Whenever gays are forbidden to participate in a St. Patrick's Day Parade,
everyone who is outraged should donate a pair of snakes to the ecology of
the Emerald Isle. Likewise, whenever an Irish politician utters a homophobic
statement, snakes should be smuggled into Ireland.
Beyond pouring over temple blueprints, and plotting torment for the poor
Irish, Discordians have been designing new spiritual disciplines for
reaching Eternity before it's too late.
Once such exercise is mantra-chanting: "Yada-yada-yada, sis-boom-bah, Chaos
Rules, blah-blah-blah. This Holy Mantra was inspired by the coincidental
meeting of the Salvation Army and the Hare Krishna cult on the same street
corner, whereupon they endeavored to drown each other out. That event also
inspired the popular horror movie, "Amazing Grace Meets Harry Krishna."
Of course, it is not enough just to chant. You must shave your head, dress
in saffron robes, eat lots of sugar, believe ridiculous things about sex,
and remain on 24-hour call, ready to mobilize whenever the Salvation Army
shows up anywhere.
While the shaved heads, exotic robes, suicidal diet, and weird sexual
morality are not essential to enlightenment, they are absolutely necessary
to ensure the Hare Krishnas will be blamed for incessant harassment of the
Salvation Army.
by Kerry Wendell Thornley
a/k/a Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst
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