Robert Hanna | A Eulogy for Rev. B. Pan
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A Eulogy for Rev. B. Pan

Earlier this year, my friend asked me to help her document some of her artwork for her portfolio in her bedroom art studio in Berlin. Yesterday I learned that she had passed away.


Bronwyn was an anomaly of this world; a deft craftsman, sharp lyricist, bicycle wizard, expert photographer, a technophobe struggling with the confines of the digital age. She was hilarious, difficult, bizarre, amazing, brilliant, and one of those people that is so uniquely themselves there’s no other way to describe them.


There’s nothing I can really say about her that she couldn’t put more perfectly herself, so below are the photos from her shoot, and the last poem she sent me while on her Canadian exile a few months back. Safe travels, Rev.



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throwing yrself across the world


For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
In other words- nothing comes for free, so dig deep in your pockets and
try to find something with a value on the international market of blood
and sweat, of ecstasy and retribution.
Life has become an exercise in navigating the unpredictable waters of
lateral motion.
We’re losing radio contact, weather reports, but I think I’m starting to
pick up some super-cellular signal from the ether thru my fillings.
A lifebuoy thrown from a flock of circling seagulls would not be
inappropriate or unwelcome right about now. Sky rocket, lunar eclipse,
extra-terrestrial activity, radio waves transmitted by super-secret
collapsible satellite dishes located somewhere in the wastelands and
dustbowl valleys of the Nevada deserts…
I start to follow the ghost trails of extinct animals thru this dust and
tumbleweed landscape. Soft footprints visible more by what is absent than
present, they circle and loop out in juliaset fractals, and I begin to
suspect that we may not be seeking the same things after all, and anyways,
I’m not convinced that my attempt to use this slingshot as a divining rod
is really working.
It twitches and points and pulls me forward like a ghostrider has taken
the reins and is determining the course.
Breathe in, breathe out, surrender yr will and the practicality that your
belief in a divine will and greater destiny makes the slightest bit of
difference to the outcome.
In fact, I’m beginning to think that as long as someone else is driving it
might be a good time to curl up and get some sleep.
Second star to the right and straight on til morning.
Motion becomes as simple as submitting yourself to the irresistible force
of gravity; every step becomes a dance of simply falling and catching
yourself, again and again.
The world falls silent and then reveals itself in a slack tide with the
whir and click of ratcheting gears dancing the ticktock heartbeat of the
world clock spinning on its tilted axis just beneath the surface of all
Scratch the skin of the earth with the subtle knife and watch as millions
of tiny gears shower up around you, falling in a flashing clinking
rainfall from the earth to the sky to flash across all the heavens.


hope yr well in the world
please give my love to anyone who cares.
rev.bronwyn pandemonium


  • Anonymous

    04.06.2016 at 05:19 Reply

    thank you for this

  • Ryan Scott

    04.06.2016 at 11:17 Reply

    Thanks for this. . . I just got the sad news. . . Bronwyn was a larger than life figure in my own existence and a dear friend. . . —Ryan the Red

  • Thomas Ashe

    12.06.2016 at 15:49 Reply

    As an old friend of hers, though estranged in recent years–as you say, difficult she sometimes was–it means much to see her remembered by others. She gave me so much through the decades of our friendship, and it tears me to know that reconciliation in our sphere of mortal coils will now most certainly not be.

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