A Passing

Yesterday evening i went to the supermarket to buy some items for my weekly soup production. Anticipating a wait at the checkout I picked up a copy of No Depression, one of the few magazines I ever buy, more to read in line than to purchase. I opened to the last page for no apparent reason to discover that Larry Brown had passed away. This struck me dumb . My wife and I are planning to go to Memphis in March as she has become intrigued by the mythology of the city: Beale Street and the place where MLK and Elvis shoved off. It also helps that her favorite american band, Lucero, live in Memphis as well. I was planning a sidetrip from that base of operations down to Rowan Oak to see Faulkner's house and I was contemplating sending letters to both Barry Hannah and Larry Brown to say how much I appreciated their work, both of whom live Oxofrd, MS. Sufficient to say I was shaken by this news that Brown had passed away in his sleep in November. The obituary, in an alt-country magazine, tied his literature to his love of music (and indirectly to his passion for beer).

A wild mushroom and barley soup was crafted last evening while my thoughts lingered elsewhere. After my wife went to sleep I watched Stone Reader again and pondered the scene where the narrator laments the death of Joseph Heller, the one interview that the narrator wanted for the documentary. Somehow, despite the morning's bright sun, the abundence of espresso and cigars, the Art Tatum in the backround, i feel detatched.

My reading continues with the Cuban jazz text, one that I am enjoying depsite my technical shortcomings. The plan is to begin Magic Mountain with Natasa today or tomorrow. There is something within me at this moment, something like a scene from Bellow where it is both a joy and curse that THIS is all there is.