A True Loss

I'd hoped to post something sooner about the recent news that Kurt Vonnegut passed away. Kurt Vonnegut was one of my most favorite writers, and, in being so, I was ecstatic when two tickets found their way to my doorstep by way of my kind and all-to charitable neighbor. June 7th, Aubrey and I were going to see Kurt Vonnegut! Goodbye Blue Monday!

I've idolized Vonnegut for some time, and though I'd like to say I've read everything he's written, I haven't. I happened upon Slaughterhouse Five, his most famous book, some time ago and loved it so much that I read novel after novel, and, as I continuously aspired to write like him, books of his short stories. He reminded me a lot of Mark Twain, my all time favorite author, and so I was entranced. So entranced, that last year, at the urge of the venerable Aubs that I get off my duff and stop procrastinating, I wrote Mr. Vonnegut a letter asking for his advice about writing.

I never got a reply. Rightfully so. The letter wasn't all that entertaining. All told, it was kindof selfish. Still, the thought of seeing him, possibly meeting him, gave me renewed vigor. I would meet an idol. Here, at last, was the chance to meet someone I truly admired. And, Wednesday, I was sad. Sad to hear he had passed away, sad to lose such a wise, apt, aware member of a failing society, and sad, selfishly, that I would not get to see him. Hello, Blue Monday.

He told some real humdingers.

It's only appropriate, I guess, that on the day Kurt Vonnegut died, I had begun reading Man Without a Country, his last published book. Since, I have taken his words in a whole new light, with new meaning, extra vigor, more immediacy. He was one of the best contemporary writers, a classic, an original. And who else to quote from about death than him:

We are here on Earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different.

and, for his epitaph, he asked it read:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

and, one of my favorites:

"No damn cat, no damn cradle."