By Pantheus

It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Hersius / Jamie Alexander. Jamie did a wonderful job of putting together this The Gorean Voice when BennKar turned it over to him. Jamie was a can-do kind of guy, stand-up, and always willing to learn more.

This is what I received, and will share this part with all of you.

Attention Ken, et al:

It is my sad responsiblity to inform you that James McKenzie Alexander, IV passed away on September 14, 2006 at approximately 4:20 p.m. He was 52 years old. The cause of death was a stroke.

I am so sorry to have to convey this terrible news to you. Jamie really liked his involvement in the Voice and was proud to work for it. He learned much during his tenure and took great pleasure in the process and in the good people he met and worked with.

His loving partner,

Kay Nefzger

With that said, I turn this editorial over to one who knew him, and can say it better than anyone.

Here's... _Marcus_

A TALE OF HERSIUS

Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n,
That each may fill the circle mark'd by heav'n:
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

--Alexander Pope

Tal again, Goreans. At long last.

It is now the 19th Ahn of the Last Day of the Second Hand of Se'Kara, 10,156 Contasta Ar.

This is the first time I have written anything for inclusion in the Gorean Voice since 1999. Seven years is a long time; in point of fact, for most of that period I earnestly believed I was unable to write here due to certain personal considerations about which, I would eventually discover, I had been incorrect. Much has changed in recent years. As it turns out, there is a great deal about which I was long mistaken.

So excuse my rambling. Strange and disjointed are the thoughts which spring to mind when one sits alone at a keyboard in the dead of night. It is at such times as this when ghosts make their presence known. Not the sort of ghosts which rattle chains and thump attic ceilings-- rather, the familiar spirits of days past, bourne on the wind of memory.

This missive is not intended to be about myself. I have perhaps written overlong on that topic during my years of Gorean correspondence and commentary. Rather, this shall be the simple transmission of facts about one particular ghost-- a specter which haunts me tonight, and which shall do so hereafter.

It is the ghost of regret.

Once many years ago, in anger and frustration, I turned my back upon public Gorean interaction and locked myself away from the turmoil which seemed to be the mainstay of so many Gorean venues. Faced with difficult personal choices and unwilling to compromise my personal integrity in my Gorean dealings, I chose voluntary exile.

Not long after, I was contacted by a man I had never met; one who expended the effort to seek me out, offline, and who had the intestinal fortitude to look me in the eyes and shake my hand and offer me whatever help he might render.

Of course I was touched by the stranger's gesture. And I gladly accepted his aid in retrieving my online name from a number of imposters who had appropriated it in my absence. The man invited me to dine with him, and I gladly accepted. Plans were tentatively made; but my schedule intervened, and dinner was postponed.

A year passed. Again my work brought me to the city wherein my new friend dwelled. Again we met, and he invited me to take part in a new initiative through which he hoped to revitalize a particular online segment of Gorean interaction. I politely declined, determined to remain in exile. He understood, of course, and we parted, again with plans to meet for dinner.

And again, my work prevented me from sharing that meal. Life intervened, in that way it has. Schedules must be kept, and deadlines met. During the next several months we exchanged occasional emails, shared bits of news, and chided one another for our frustrating inability to do so simple a thing as share a meal.

The following year I was pleased yet again to see my friend approach, his hand outstretched. This time we embraced and spoke at length, now about his recent appointment as editor of a well-known online Gorean webzine. He informed me he would be honored if I would contribute; I gravely replied that I could not-- due to certain past dealings, I was honor bound not to do so. Of course he understood. I wished him luck in the venture, however. And again we planned, though somewhat dubiously, to meet for our long-awaited meal. And neither of us were surprised when circumstances again prevented us from sharing it.

The particulars of my work changed shortly thereafter, and I did not return to his city again.

A year later, when I suddenly found myself embroiled in some deep soul-searching amidst a personal crisis, I contacted him again for assurances regarding something I had once told him. It was a matter of honor, to me the most important of things -- and his earnest confirmation helped me find the truth amidst the tumult of an assault on my good name.

Now that it was known that I could, after all, provide material to the online webzine he edited (my promise not to do so having actually been made in regard to an entirely different online venue), my friend again asked me if I could contribute anything at all. But I was busy with work, as ever, and so I politely begged off-- but assured him that one day I would do so.

A year later is now. And my friend is gone.

And so the ghost of regret haunts my thoughts. How difficult would it have been for me to bend my schedule, just once, for the duration of a simple meal? How hard would it have been for me to contribute one of a thousand Gorean essays I have authored to my friend's webzine?

Though I will never have the honor of breaking bread with him as my cup companion, I have at last made good on my promise to write new material for the aforementioned webzine. You are reading it now. It fills the pages of this issue of the Gorean Voice, of which my late friend Jamie was formerly the editor.

I am unsure whether or not my involvement here has come too late. But knowing Jamie, I think he would still be pleased to know that I finally added my name to his list of contributors.

I was proud to have known Jamie, and it was an honor to have him for my friend.

And what has this to do with Hersius?

Hersius, as we are told in Norman's Gor books, was a great Gorean hero.

I agree wholeheartedly.

He will be missed.

I wish you well,

_Marcus_