I used to have dreams about Lemmy Kilmister that were Christ-like in nature. In the dreams he was always a force of moral and chaotic good, leading me to sound decisions and peace of mind. I can’t really explain why I assigned to him this sort of leadership role in my subconscious and it probably doesn’t matter. He and Christopher Walken have both been Jesus-like figures to me, Christ mixed with Loki. We all have our personal gods, and, if we dont, we should.
It seems impossible that this cigarette-cured, whiskey-soaked, womanizing rock god could possibly be dead. Surely he will rise again in some way. Until he does, check out this documentary about him, worth watching not only because it’s about Lemmy but also because the scene with Scott Ian’s reaction to Lemmy going commando in cut-off Daisy Dukes is the sort of thing you need to see. He was larger than life, badder than bad, yet had no problem with his balls falling out of his shorts. It’s hilarious, but it’s also a sign of a man who was so badass he couldn’t be bothered with social niceties like underpants. Such matters were beneath him. As well they should have been. Better to live balls-out than to become neutered and self-conscious.
God, I really loved him. “That’s the way I like it baby, I don’t wanna live forever!”
Godspeed, Lemmy.
Very sad news š Lemmy was one of those people I just expected to live forever. He had such an influence on heavy rock and metal and I’m sure many of my favourite bands wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for Motorhead.
He really was a man larger than life and therefore it’s shocking to realize that, in fact, he was mortal. But god, as sudden as it was, I can’t imagine a better way to go. Quickly and without drama and hospitals and extended misery. I’ll always be sad that I never got to meet him – him and Johnny Cash.