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"Now at a memorial service for Isaac Asimov a few years ago on the West Coast I spoke, and I said, 'Isaac is in heaven now,' to a crowd of humanists. It was quite awhile before order could be restored. Humanists were rolling in the aisles. Should I, God forbid, pass on some time, I hope that some of you will say that Kurt is up in heaven now."
-Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)
Kurt is up in heaven now. It's one of my favorite jokes.
At some point in our lives, we decide to do something. Perhaps we fall into it unexpectedly, perhaps we always knew.
I write. I write badly most of the time, but I write. I started writing after reading a few bestsellers and thinking, "I could do this." Any creative mind ponders it. A singer feels he or she can sing better than Britney or a guitarist shuns punk bands and their three-chord sets.
I will never write as well as Kurt Vonnegut-ever. And so it goes.
He once wrote about his favorite teacher. She asked "What is it artists do?" He mumbled, "They do two things. First, they admit they can't straighten out the whole universe. And then second, they make at least one little part of it exactly as it should be. A blob of clay, a square of canvas, a piece of paper or whatever."
Kurt Vonnegut made thousands of pages exactly as they should be.
He died last Wednesday from a fall. Funny-he spent the better part of his life trying to kill himself with Pall Mall cigarettes and even attempted suicide back in the '80s. I think he'd had a glimpse of the future. He never felt comfortable in modern society, never had an e-mail address and possibly never even had a computer. If you ever wished to contact him, it would be through a letter only, stamped and delivered. He wanted you to actually physically get up and buy a stamp, to interact with at least one person. It was more human.
His last book was A Man without a Country. It was small -- a going away present for his fans. He talked about the state of the world, the Bush administration and oil. It was the same as always. It was as good as ever.
He saw things in a way they should be seen. If you want to read about capitalism, read God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. If you want to read about religion, read Cat's Cradle. If you want to read about art, read Bluebeard.
There will be a thousand eulogies to Kurt Vonnegut. I never met him, but by making pieces of paper exactly as they should be, he changed my life. He changed so many, and he would have been the first to tell you that's what life is really all about. While you're here, make a connection. And be kind.
I'll leave you with a poem from his novel Slapstick. Like all his writing, it is simple. Like all his writing, it is brilliant.
"I was those seeds, I am this meat.
This meat hates pain, this meat must eat.
This meat must sleep, this meat must dream.
This meat must laugh, this meat must scream.
But when, as meat, it's had its fill,
Please plant it as a daffodil."
Kurt Vonnegut is not in heaven. He is in the earth. He will grow in our hearts and minds forever.
