Welcome to the Detholz! Mp3 Blog.
We’re going to pause this week to honor a dear friend of Detholz! who was killed last week: Kurt Hanson.
Kurt was the person for whom the song “Cast Out Devils” was written — it is a song entirely for him and about his life.
I’m posting a free download from the 2006 album, “Cast Out Devils,” here in Kurt’s honor:
CAST OUT DEVILS
Kurt was at the record release show for “Cast Out Devils” back in 2006. We dedicated this song to him from the stage. As our friends told us afterwards, his usual sloppy posture straightened, and he blushed and smiled ear to ear.
All of us deserve a song, but Kurt more than most. He was one of the most extraordinary human beings I have ever known.
I’ve included his eulogy and the lyrics to the song below.
We love you, Kurt.

KURT HANSON - MY FAVORITE MENDICANT
RIP 1973-2008
men·di·cant
Pronunciation ..’men-di-k?nt..
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin mendicant-, mendicans, present participle of mendicare to beg, from mendicus beggar
Date: 14th century
1: beggar
2: often capitalized : a member of a religious order (as the Franciscans) combining monastic life and outside religious activity and originally owning neither personal nor community property : friar
In the summer of 2004, Kurt crashed at my one-bedroom apartment in Chicago for a few days as he was wont to do. I had to step out one afternoon to run some errands, so I left Kurt alone on my couch deeply submerged in one of his dog-eared Krishnamurti books that were like bodily appendages for him. When I returned, Kurt had disappeared but he’d left his calling card: a serious mess. Not your average serious mess, either. Kurt’s messes were always piled high with deep mysteries.
When I entered my apartment, I was met by a mountain of wrappers, crumbs, half-eaten food and a fresh layer of dust on my coffee table. I thought: how does one conjure dust out of thin air? When I walked into the bathroom, the shower rod was strangely askew. And most puzzling of all: there was a small blood stain on my kitchen floor.
“My God,” I thought. “What happened here?” And then I smiled. This was what those who knew him best referred to as “classic Kurt.” He would descend like a tornado and leave a litany of questions in his wake. From whence did he come? Where did he go? And what the hell happened in between?
In the movies, there is a phenomenon known as the “continuity error.” For example, in one shot, a glass of water in the corner of the screen is full. When it cuts to next shot, the glass of water is suddenly empty. Or, in another imaginary scene– say from one of Kurt’s favorite films, “Waterland” NOT “Waterworld,” as he’d be quick to point out — a depressed college professor prepares to battle a man in a gorilla suit. Cut to the next shot, and a stunt double dressed as the college professor wrestles with said gorilla-suited adversary.
If you or I were to watch one of these scenes, our brains would filter out these continuity errors and automatically focus on the most important action in the scene. The average brain suppresses unimportant details and assembles a composite “reality map.”
For my friend Kurt Hanson, no such reality map was possible. His brain was incapable of filtering out the extra sensory static, so it was constantly barraged and overwhelmed with sensory input, unable to organize or filter any of it. This caused him intense physical and psychic pain. Kurt lived in a chaotic and frightening universe in which he spent his whole life attempting to make sense of it, and, if he could, to make peace with it.
Kurt existed in a cosmic question mark. His mind burbled with a thousand different vision quests at any given time– many of them overlapping and contradicting one another. When he had a mind to share some of these, he was a brilliant and engaging conversationalist with a pentrating intellect, and a large measure of spiritual wisdom. Kurt was one of my favorite people on the planet to talk to because I would never walk away from him without my perspective contorted in some new, fascinating way.
We spent many, many hours at Wheaton College, on the porch of the Maplewood house, at restaurants of dubious quality, and on interstate phone calls parsing the nature of his scary universe, the so-called “cultural consensus reality” against which he struggled to survive, and a host of deep subjects on which Kurt spoke with authority and, at times, with great eloquence. On more than one occasion when we discussed religion, Kurt opened doors for me to vast spiritual expanses that forever reshaped and enriched my own limping Christian faith.
I came to think of Kurt as a poor man’s avatar or, as he sometimes jokingly described himself, as a “Mendicant”– only in the truest sense. He was our friend group’s Traveling Friar, making sure we were challenged in our thinking– and helping himself to our food when he was hungry.
When I first met Kurt 12 years ago as a college kid, I found him to be a gangly, boxy-haired curiosity. As we spent more time together, I grew to love him as a close friend and eventually, as a kindred spirit. I could talk to Kurt for hours and share with him in ways that I couldn’t with most other people. And Kurt would listen and sincerely engage, sometimes disagreeing, but always without judgment. Despite his capacity for occasional nastiness brought on by his illness, Kurt was ultimately a gentle, kind soul.
It has been said many times in the wake of his death that there was no one on the planet quite like Kurt. That’s a cliche, perhaps, but in Kurt’s case it was literally true. Kurt was one of the most bizarrely beautiful creatures I have ever met. He was a man split in half– one side of him fully embraced his role as the social misfit, the weird guy at the party, a sort of Buddhist “Hell on Wheels.” And I loved that part of him. The other side — the side buried under the illnesses, the suffering and the pain, was a scared little boy who just wanted to be a regular guy, have a job and maybe a girlfriend. To be, as he half-jokingly would call it, a “man of action.” I loved that side of Kurt, too.
These two halves of Kurt were in constant conflict and that conflict caused him anger, frustration, and ultimately, self-hatred. But I wish he could see you all here, now, with the blinders of his varied illnesses removed. Kurt attracted so many people who loved him — many of whom are among the finest, brightest human beings I know.
To his family, on behalf of his friends, I want you to know how much Kurt contributed to and how much he enriched our lives. Kurt’s life story may not have a happy ending, but as it closes, it is a purposeful, meaningful and strangely beautiful one.
And for my friend Kurt, who is finally at peace with himself, I offer one last quote from one of his mentors, Jiddu Krishnamurti:
“If you begin to understand what you are without trying to change it, then what you are undergoes a transformation.”
I believe many of us understood bits of what Kurt was, perhaps missing a few crucial pieces of information blinking in the periphery. Kurt was ultimately only able to think of himself as a walking continuity error– a man fractured into too many unimportant bits to survive.
Speaking for myself, I believe Kurt perpetuates in a blissful eternity with God today, and that he understands, finally and totally, exactly what he is– and how much he is loved.
***
CAST OUT DEVILS
Pass out outside
Do it
Head is covered under a separation
Germans in the hot night fly through it
Feeling calm, a thousand bombs blasting Britain
Radio, radio
Pick him up and drive him home
The wife is on the phone
From the the hall of the gods of war
In the light of the night grocery store
I think I believe
In life worth living
I know that I need
Space to live in
Dust collects and blood clots in the shower
Stumble backward, lost the medication
Locked it in the car, pry off the sunroof
Swallow whole with milk you stole from the priesthood
Sinuses full of mother and dad
Blowing Krishnamurti’s “I Am That”
Lips of a prophet
Nails of a thief
Scratch for whiskey in the summer heat
I think I believe
In the world of Satan
I know that I need
Space to make him.