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March 10, 2012

A long time ago, my friend Nathaniel was born on this day. He lived to reach the age of twenty-five, and died five days later.

A few years ago, which was already several years after his death, I became intermittently obsessed with writing something about Nathaniel. I did write something, a long and rambling memoir, but only in my head. Over the years I spent countless hours doing this. I meant to get something down in print, but I am lazy, the task overwhelming, and I knew that the words that burned so brightly in my mind would be something less outside of it.

But now I have this blog; and I feel sure that Nathaniel, if he were still around, would be its biggest fan. And I know that, whatever I do with it, he will be one of its biggest influences. So in posts to come I think I might throw him into the mix, along with the anteater farts, war tubas, deodands, mittens, mountain movies, and Extraordinarily Powerful & Beautiful Statements of Truth That I Have Not Gotten Around to Writing Yet — good company for him, I hope.

I have, after all, already memorialized an eel and a cat — with the eel being a stranger to me and the cat not even dead — so it would seem slighting not to do the same and more for Nathaniel, whose friendship was, whose memory is, dearer to me than just about anything else in my life.

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One Comment
  1. Patrick Critzer permalink

    I’m ready to read it.

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