i first met Aaron Schaut when he reached out to me regarding my novel Dead Dogs. he was inspired by the two lead characters and wrote a couple of songs about them for his band Dynaflo. i gave him my blessing to release his record and was really moved by what he’d done. he managed to adapt my book to music, quoting some of my book’s dialogue and it really worked. we became good friends over time sharing our love for writers, books, music and movies. how would friendships exist without these things?
Aaron told me it was my writing which triggered his desire to write a few books and short stories. most of all we had bonded over our love for photographer and filmmaker, Robert Frank and his classic book, The Americans. during our friendship i managed to get a copy of The Americans and Aaron was inspired to release a trilogy of books called These Americans. these books are small dramas about characters who love to drink and party and love each other. i wish i could write such simple things, honestly.
Aaron was a disciple of the Beat era and its writers, and had mapped out parts of his life in accordance to such writings as On the Road and The Dharma Bums. then i introduced him Rudolph Wurlitzer and he was blown away by the books Nog and Slow Fade. when Starlite Pulp published one of his stories Aaron took a road trip on his motorcycle across Route 66 to Joshua Tree for the book release readings. he was a daydreamer, and very optimistic about love and existence. i used to kid him about his books being “cozy beat novels”, and he unabashedly admitted to being a fan of Frank Capra and his feelgood movies. and you’ll always get that optimism from Aaron’s novels and short stories. he was also a great musician and singer in the band Dynaflo. the dude embodied cool garage rock with his scruffy face and leather jacket.
once an artist passes their work is already ingrained in our hearts and souls, and we carry them with us forever. i know Aaron’s spirit is riding through the bardo on his motorcycle, the angelheaded hipster he was.
“Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: “With me
Died Adonais; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity!”
— Percy Bysshe Shelley
