Kurt Vonnegut is dead at 84.
I don’t really know what to say. The first time I read Vonnegut was when I was fourteen. A friend told me about Breakfast Of Champions so I went to the local library and borrowed it.
Reading that book broke my brain I think.
So much of what I was thinking, and still am thinking, Vonnegut wrote on those pages. It is hard to put into words how great reading Vonnegut felt. A few of my friends were also very interested in him and, despite our later differences, we could always talk about Vonnegut or reference Kilgore Trout together.
As I have said before, it is a pretty troubling thought that someone sixty years my senior is one of the people whom I relate to the most. Into his eighties Vonnegut’s writing about contemporary issues was frighteningly right on. When I was reading A Man Without A Country last year it was somewhat comforting, as the world spirals into the void around us, that someone else understood.
Take care, old friend.
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