Reason it is written on the brambles
stranded on the spikes – my blood red, oh listen:
remember those times I could call
through the clear day
time you’d be there…
and braver and braver, a handkerchief waver
the louder your lips to a loud hailer
growing together, the good of each either
no wondering, stumbling, fumbling
rumbling minds shot together,
our minds shot together…

– from “It is Obvious” by Syd Barrett

January 6, 1946 – July 7, 2006

Cancer, not the diabetes or the ulcers (or the drugs), finally killed Roger Keith Barrett a week ago Friday, so Pink Floyd were allowed to announce on Tuesday.
On his own website, Bowie swiftly expressed “major regret that I never got to know him”, though he borrowed plenty. SydBarrett.net, where I stole the above Mick Rock photo of Syd, closed for the duration of the grief, apologising “for any inconvenience”; Astral Piper stayed open, huddled around its amazing collection of photos you can’t steal.

Anyway, Guardian Online’s got the best stuff, including an excerpt from Tim Willis’ 2002 biography, which is interesting apart from the annoying bit about Willis joining the parade of people who refused to leave the poor bugger alone …

I knock again, and hear three heavy steps. The door flies open and he’s standing there. He’s stark naked except for a small, tight pair of bright-blue Y-fronts; bouncing, like the books say he always did, on the balls of his feet …
“So is everything all right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still painting?”
“No, I’m not doing anything,” he says (which is true – he’s talking to me). “I’m just looking after this place for the moment.”
“For the moment? Are you thinking of moving on?”
“Well, I’m not going to stay here for ever.”
He pauses a split second, delivers an unexpected “Bye-bye”, and slams the door.