Friday, December 9, 2016


John Glenn is dead.

I feel like every death this year is going to ring out like a giant tree, falling, and the name of the year. That's what happens on Facebook now. People say, '2016' and then there's a link to the latest terrible thing. We all know it's a garbage fire. The sun itself is probably a giant trash can, burning.

I know we'll lose people every year. Time doesn't pass without some loss or another. And really,  '2016' is a construct and not a discrete, cursed piece of time. The good and the bad of it extends well before and well after the space on the calendar. And fucking yet.

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