total convenience and flowers seven days milk:

I was kind of lonely when Jasper Johns died, a few months ago, because his art just didn't matter to anyone in my life the way it mattered to me. Similarly, this probably won't mean to you what it means to me, but:

David Foster Wallace just died - hanged himself, says the Times - and that's even worse than when Jasper Johns died, because he was in the middle of life, he was only 46, and now there will be no more essays, no more novels, and I'm sad. His fiction after Infinite Jest didn't even appeal to me that much, I was waiting for him to do something else, and now - no more. Goddamnit.


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