Igor is extirpated, and the hefty fabric of reality sighs briefly. Yet his creases, delicate but sharp, remain.
Let us have some fun and read Igor's obituaries. Let us compare them and then categorise them:
Who wins? Well, I put the Independent in a box of spoons, while the Guardian sits on the bottom shelf, under a pile of other obituaries. The Times, well, it is not even fit for lining the cutlery draw is it? Funny how tedious you can make someone just by writing an obituary about them. For Igor, that is doubly the case.
Let us ponder, ideally thoughtfully yet directionlessly; and let some of the word combinations he formulated and their effects on our reality live on...
Posted by Ian at March 09, 2006 11:53 AM | TrackBack
When I do die I shall be glad to get away from loud pop music and motor cars, but I shall miss, insofar as when one is dead one can miss anything, the beautiful kindnesses of those people to whom courtesy comes naturally.