Words—
I only ever really knew him through his words, but they were good ones: they were funny, they went on both wisely and too well about things like comics and Buffy, they stood up for small things; they suffered no fools gladly, but he’d occasionally let ’em take a fool around the block and back, and if sometimes they got outraged, it’s only because he was paying attention. He paid a lot of attention; you were going to learn something whenever you let him have his say, and there’s a lot of things in this world both little and big that are the better for it.
A moment of silence, please, for Aaron Hawkins.
—And then start making more noise than ever. He was the Uppity Negro, after all.
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There needs to be a word for the awful feeling of tragedy and loss you get from discovering a really great site by learning that the guy who wrote it is now gone.
(Safe journey, Aaron Hawkins. I wish I'd known you while you were here; clearly the world is poorer without you. Ochón, ochón.)