We had a memorial service for Isaac [Asimov] a few years back, and I spoke and said at one point, 'Isaac is up in heaven now.' It was the funniest thing I could have said to an audience of humanists. I rolled them in the aisles. It was several minutes before order could be restored. And if I should ever die, God forbid, I hope you will say, 'Kurt is up in heaven now.' That's my favorite joke.~KV
Telling it straight to the very end...
Thank god he's in heavy now, the magnificent bastard!
Kurt Vonnegut is gone, on a perfectly lovely morning.
Unsettling.
It's like hearing that the the gypsy at the outskirts of town took off. That the one person who kept the mojo straight, who always knew where it was at, that the one who saw things -- has left town.
But then, anyone who keeps the mojo straight knows a secret -- that the mojo is never in one place, that it is not something one person made, that the mojo is just another word for us, all of us, all at once, present and accounted for, live like a snake, all over the world.
What a species. We.
Who do any damned thing we want to do, no matter how huge, no matter how mean. All over the world.
Kurt could never take his eyes off the mojo, he lived by the mojo, and he'd point you straight at it whenever you stopped to wonder where it's at.
Living being a series of days that are a series of minutes and moments; you are either here, or you are elsewhere. If you are here by the minute and moment, you are privy to the mojo, and it is a fascinating way to live. All those minds, all those hearts, all those souls, sensible, accessible. Present.
Here on this lovely morning, we have us, all of us. We have all we ever had, and all we will ever have.
Kurt has moved on, on a perfectly lovely morning.
And the mojo is yours.
Wilson, Ballard, Vonnegut, that completes the law of threes (if one is
to believe in such) too bad for Humanity. So it goes...
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