Vonnegut

Last night I picked up A Man without A Country by Kurt Vonnegut to pass some time. It had been on my bookshelf for a while, but I was trying to read some other books first before I got to this one.

Just under an hour into it I'm already halfway through the book, but it has already become one of my favourites. This book makes me miss the old man, even though I have only started reading his writings after his death. This book makes me feel like I am having an intimate conversation with a funny, wise and piercingly honest old friend. This book makes me feel like something is terribly absent in this world now that he is no longer around.

Here is a passage I particularly enjoyed last night:

"If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I'm not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something."

I have some free time today. I think I'm going to take the train all the way to the ocean, to say hello to the waves, to have th fog wreck havoc with my hair, and spend some time with old Kurt by myself. The cold air, and the sharp wit, will do me some good.