Some more moving and strange and banal comments have appeared on Tom Disch’s blog, now six weeks since he killed himself. Including one comment urging people to tell someone who’s not yet killed themselves how great they are. And this one, bringing Phil Dick into the picture:

Well, you depressing bastard, as if writing The Genocides (and boy did that book get under my skin, buddy! What a masterpiece; first time out the gate and a tour-de-force! Makes me jealous as hell) wasn’t enough, you had to go and do this.

I’ve got to admit I’m a little pissed off at you about it. But God knows (and that’s you, right? So YOU know) I understand where you were coming from, so I’ll cut you some slack. Listen: granted, there’s no afterlife, and you and me and Sam Clemens all know it, but let’s just pretend there is for one second so I can ask you this one favor in return: cut Phil some slack too when you run into him him, would you? He was just another poor slob who made some stupid mistakes, like we all did, (okay so some of his were worse, but its not like the FBI actually read any of that crazy bastard’s letters, right?) so I’ll forgive you if you forgive him, okay?

And this beautiful paragraph from Jerry:

And finally, after running this and letting it run, for days, through my mind and heart and spirit, and with my younger son telling me he wants to remember you from the often happy times of the ’60s and ’70s and that he has been sharing some of his memories of you from then with some of his friends, and my older boy mailing me links to he few photographs he has up a on private site of you (and Charlie too) visiting us, as you often did, on West 87th Street when we were all young, still under 30, I can stop by here and say something.