God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut

The Kurt that I care about died yesterday. He hadn't been publishing stories for a few years now, but the world is an emptier place without his words. You just can't replace a guy that hand draws an anus in the middle of one of his novels. So it goes.

All his stories resonate, but Slaughterhouse-Five was written almost 40 years ago. I don't know if it's brilliant or sad that it could have been written today and still be revelant. I don't think he knew either. We'll miss you, Kurt.


"Robert Kennedy, whose summer home is eight miles from the home I live in all year round, was shot two nights ago. He died last night. So it goes.

Martin Luther King was shot a month ago. He died, too. So it goes.

And every day my Government gives me a count of corpses created by military science in Vietnam. So it goes.

My father died many years ago now - of natural causes. So it goes. He was a sweet man. He was a gun nut, too. He left me his guns. They rust."