David Berman killed himself last week. He was fifty-two. I’m really sad about it. I never got to meet him but was a huge fan for many years. Few could turn a phrase like him. I don’t hold what he did against him. It’s really hard to keep living. I’m sure he held on as long as he could.  

I’ll miss his voice and his words. I’m grateful there a records and books which will keep him from disappearing altogether. His songs and poems will be with me and everyone else who loves them for as long as we’re drawing breath.  

“When it’s snowing, the outdoors feel like a room.” 

I don’t feel like writing anything else about these past few weeks. Most of what’s been happening personally and globally has been gutting to greater or lesser extents. Makes me envious of those who’ve checked out. But I doubt I’ll go out of sadness or mental illness or anytime soon.

When the time comes, I’ll do it with a clear mind and peace in my heart.