Musical Journey: Part 2

The children are asleep. At the same time, which is welcome but rare. My biology training serves me well; pack their little bodies with carbohydrates and the blood will rush to their bellies to digest it. In short, feed 'em til they pass out. It's not cruel; it's exactly how I fall asleep.

Plan B would have been to emotionally drain them with a stirring rendition of "You Are My Sunshine" on the harmonica. If they aren't smitten with that, I've also got some Stevie Wonder I've been working on.

Slaughterhouse 5: Part 2

The loss of Kurt Vonnegut has been seeping in over the past couple days like morning dew into a sleeping bag. The Gililland Middle School library where I spent most of my lunch hours had only two shelves of science fiction. As I worked my way through the section, I would pass over Slaughterhouse 5 again and again. The title brought to mind the shoot-em-up space operas that I was discovering I didn't much care for. I might have passed it up for the rest of my life but eventually I had read everything else and I picked up the faded paperback copy, took it to the librarian, and checked it out.

It changed my life. After reading the fluid poetry of Ray Bradbury and the sprawling, world-within-worlds of Frank Herbert and the pitch-perfect camp of Damon Knight, Vonnegut's writing was so fucking wry. I loved it. It certainly set the tone for my upcoming stint as a sarcastic teenager eager to share my biting commentary with the world.

As I read, I would re-examine the spine for the little sticker with a rocket ship that signaled many of the books I liked and think "This is science fiction?"

Vonnegut's work has taught me much. Every now and again I'll be surprised by a wash of grief but it passes quickly. It's hard to feel upset because I know there are several of his books I haven't read yet. The man may be dead, but he is not gone. And I am happily looking forward to spending a lot more time with him.