Today is indeed a sad day for intelligence, satire, levelheadedness, friendship and, of course, literary genius.
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. is dead at the age of 84.
For those of you that have been fortunate enough to read all, any or even one of this man’s phenomenal books or short stories, you understand that the loss of this man is the same, if not greater, than the loss of any of the greatest of human beings.
At the risk of sounding ridiculous, Vonnegut ranks as a modern day Mark Twain, a literary Richard Harris or Katharine Hepburn, capable of delivering a no-hand, behind the back jibe or truism with pen as well as Bob Cousy did on the court.
In other words: you know how we look back in time, in history, at great figures, and wonder what it would have been like to be alive when they were? Same thing.
Consider yourself lucky to read his words. And if you have not, do. Your life will be richer, yet do not be surprised if you feel the sadder for not knowing about his beauty during his life. For you will, and those of us who have known him through the written word if not in actual life, mourn his passing.
I wax philosphical. I apologize. I’m grieving. It’s a process.