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So jarring to fall asleep full of the echoes of Neruda to get up again and find Tony Snow, a man with the singular talent for cheerfulness against the most heinous realities, dead. * called him a dedicated public servant. I don't think anything could be further from the truth, though service was surely his métier. I found this news oddly depressing, and have been thinking about that for a couple hours now.
If someone had stood before me with a list of people I would pronounce never born Tony Snow's life would have vanished in thin air, so my unhappiness about the news had nothing to do with wishing he wouldn't have died. How could I want alive someone who did the jig in the spin zone, heartlessly, for a living, for his sole occupation?
He didn't give a fuck about his fellow man. Maybe he loved plants or animals. Maybe he loved music. Of course he could be unfailingly friendly! Not an ion of concern emanated from him, though he was adept at crinkling his brow.
I think it was just the thought of anyone going through all that. I don't want any of them to suffer. If they can't be vaporized, painlessly, at least just quickly blow off their heads.
12 July 2008
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