I’m naive in my ongoing grief and shock, but Greg Tate was forever young: outstandingly hip, always curious, somehow never jaded—even when he was, hands down, one of the wisest souls who has ever orbited the sun. Greg’s influence on a generation of writers **who became writers because of him** will continue to have an outsized impact on criticism and on language as an art form, and his commitment to the under-celebrated practice of mentorship should not go unsung. Greg did not just inspire us. He compelled us through his singular voice and sheer talent. And as if that were not enough, he made it clear, in his never overstated way, that HE (somehow) believed IN US. Greg, thank you for being one of these acutely rare, brilliant people who hears the artistic genius in the noise of exactly what is sounding off right now, and compels us to be present in it. Greg did that for hip hop in the 80s, and he was doing that for artists now. None of this art history stuff. He uplifted creators in their time. We will continue to build upon GT’s Futurist scaffolding and shine, carrying his extraordinary words and vision as far as we can collectively imagine.