The last time I saw him was at his birthday party

©Christopher Alvarez-Hkns

“The last time I saw him was at his birthday party at the Roost. I sat across from him at the table with a handful of his closest friends, feeling incredibly privileged to share his special day with them. We talked about Dallas, the town we’d both grown up in, about trends in the music industry and about the new double album he was working on. He was shy and soft-spoken as always, but looked healthier and more upbeat than he’d been in years. I had brought a present for him, a pintsize music box. He took my gift with great care and held it to his ear, turning the tiny crank to the tune that carried my unspoken message of love for him: “Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better.” Elliott didn’t say a word. He just looked at me, grinning like a little kid.
You were my hero, Elliott. I’ll miss you.”

Liam Gowing


I knew Elliott. I don’t pretend that I knew Elliott


“I knew Elliott. I don’t pretend that I knew Elliott. Ours was a recent acquaintance, but it was no less treasured. I met him about a year ago, at the beginning of what appeared for him to be a slow rebirth following years of self-destructive behavior. He was a strange guy, acutely sensitive, but totally sweet. He didn’t say much, but when he did, you held your breath in anticipation of his thoughts, always profound and often witty. He was unflinchingly honest. His brain seemed to operate like a computer designed to accept only truth and produce only beauty. He recognized falsehood instantly, but he rejected it awkwardly, as if it threatened to crash his system. He seemed utterly unaware of his own genius and processed every compliment with total humility.”

Liam Gowing