Epitaph

The only proof he needed
for the existence of God
was music

It was sitting in my father’s bookshelf, I had yet to discover it as I was scanning the backs of seemingly ancient books looking for something that could catch my eye.

«God Bless You, Mr Rosewater,» it said. I delved in deep and found myself trapped in a web I had no desire to escape from. My mind was wide open, ideas expanded freely. It snowballed from there.

«Slapstick» cemented his place in my heart. I found myself agreeing with concepts that seemed, for all intents and purposes, ludicrous. Fluctuating gravity, yeah, I can run with that.

I became unstuck in time, decades repeated themselves; I discovered ice-nine.

He’s so damn quotable. All the things I could ever need to know about the human condition and our place in the Universe is inherent in his writing.

The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist.

God bless you, Mr. Vonnegut.

Thursday, 12. April, 2007 · , , &