R.I.P. Kurt Vonnegut

We have been talking lately about how much we love Kurt Vonnegut and about how he seems to be able to get away with everything he says. Maybe it's his wacky appearance or his age. But I think it's more that everything he says, even when it's accompanied by drawings of someone's anus, is relevant and accurate. Even when it's outrageous, it's right. The impetus for the discussion about him this weekend was Marty's t-shirt, which I had designed a few weeks ago.

I have read most of Vonnegut's books; our home library has fourteen books, excluding the anus-scribbled Breakfast of Champions, which I lent to someone who never returned it. The smallest is a pamphlet I picked up at a peace rally: Fates Worse Than Death, the text from a church lecture in 1982. He talks about how there really isn't much that's worse than death. I didn't really agree with that one.

Marty just finished the very last of his books, the one that came after the one he said would be his last, which came after another that was supposed to be his last.

It's almost 7:30 in the morning, and I am stunned. I haven't had much time to write these mini-essays, something my soul misses, and now, when I make time, I can't find the words.

It would be trite to say, simply, "And so it goes." I guess I thought some people would live forever.

So, to Kurt Vonnegut, one of the greatest thinkers of our time, I say: not even your honor was lost.