David Foster Wallace, RIP

[lizziebith]

Read IJ three times...DFW's usenet list was one of my first forays into the internet conversation world back in the early-mid 90s (and was oddly active today...which tipped me off), and this is one of my favorites (in the short-short format):

A Radically Condensed History of Postindustrial Life

When they were introduced, he made a witticism, hoping to be liked. She laughed extremely hard, hoping to be liked. Then each drove home alone, staring straight ahead, with the very same twist to their faces.

The man who’d introduced them didn’t much like either of them, though he acted as if he did, anxious as he was to preserve good relations at all times. One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one.

David Foster Wallace
Spring 1998
Ploughshares

***

I was lucky to meet him in '97 (at the Skirball) and have him sign a book or two. I made him wince with whatever pithy comment I'd carefully constructed in anticipation of the meeting. That's me. I make people wince. Ah well, I've accepted it.

But I'm really feeling a fist-hitting-desk "DAMN" feeling about this though...like a pathetic fangirl who just can't get it. WHY? I've read every word he's written and never saw this coming; in fact -- he seemed to have a lovely coper* HUD on. Honestly? It was a coper I emulated, and which seems to have served me well. But it failed him? Damn!!

Damn, Damn. Damn.

I will miss the words unwritten. Aw DFW...geez. My cheese is real sad.


*cope+er