upon the event of death of Terry Pratchett

death is efficient. what else shall i say – it is efficient to the last minute detail.

which makes it … deadly, i guess. or welcome, if one knows of its coming, and knows its purpose – to release the living from the burden of life.

Terry Pratchett is among my favourite authors, together with Ursula Le Guin, Anne McCaffrey, God, J.K. Rowling and Herman Hesse. i have read every book he has published, and re-read them more than once. whenever i stepped onto the Discworld (and other worlds), my life was made more. more than just this endless wheel of sleep-commute-work-commute-sleep. more than the city i live in. more than the culture i sometimes study. more.

and of his creations, Death was my favourite. For being there, always. for the sense of humour and acuteness of tact. for solving things.

now Death has met his creator. the web of the living has been torn apart, an exit has been made, a hole in the universe – but this parting is not for ever. on the other side of the black desert, we shall meet again.

there is no death in the L-space, only books mislaid.

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