Nobody bent, twisted, teased, elongated, and strung out words to create such beautiful, elegant, and harrowing images as Vic Chesnutt. Vic Chesnutt of Athens, Georgia. Now Vic is dead. Dead by his own hands. Killed by who knows what, but haunted to the end by our crazy and cruel system of health (un)care. (That though is another story -- but one that needs to be talked about.) The words, the sounds, though, still are there.
And there are some more words to read. Words worthy of Vic. My friend and one of my heroes, Mark Huddle, has written a terrific piece on Vic. Take a look. And take a listen to the West of Rome -- one of my desert island disks -- and the At the Cut.