{52. eulogy}


Under the circumstances I have been motioning forward. The unexpected. The misplaced. The setbacks and little discrepancies of chosen ideas. The missing of my father, a furious loss: he was a very intelligent source of history, literature, language, and meteorology. Solid Texas Aggie through and through. Embodiment of diversity. 

His death exist as a wound. As a—




The art of the metaphor was not lost on my father. The complexity of word-play factored in his every day routine, into his casual thought process and his multilayered cognitive reasoning skills. As everyone knows, Dad could work daily crosswords without much effort, in pen, in a matter of short minutes, and with rare corrections or spelling changes. He had developed his manner of response to these puzzles into a craft, easily decoding the elaborate clues into the proper, unusual criss-cross answers. The lack of effort was, in fact, for him, because all language mattered: from local colloquial phrases to global-inspired morphemes, the vernacular of scholarly academics—it all mattered.


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