S.C.

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 I didn't know you had passed away. I heard from a friend yesterday that your funeral were at the end of last year. A bit pissed off I wasn't told, as you were for a while QUITE A HUGE CRUSH of mine. 

I have not written a poem about you. I'm not sure if I can write poetry anymore, sorry, but I remember having written a poem about the death of your dog, how sad you were then. I took a picture from the mini-book I published with Strawberry Press, the old fashion way of printing, letter by letter, love and sweat. Contrary to many others of my scribblings, I'm still quite proud of that poem, and that will do for now. I am sorry I cannot write a new poem right now, maybe in the future? 

Another thing... I very much hope your violin is kept alive by a musician as passionate as you were. You are alive through that, the good old wood.

As a sign of respect for your nationality, I took the picture with a tartan-themed background, it's probably not your clan, but that's all I could find, sorry!

Descartes in doubt at the departure of his dog


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