For my co-author

This was supposed to be published on April 8, in honor of my co-author. And though I didn't remember to do so, I thought of him--and with him--on that date. He chose this.

"There's a stench in the air, which, from this distance underground, might be the smell of either death or of spring--I hope of spring. But don't let me trick you, there is a death in the smell of spring and in the smell of thee as in the smell of me. And if nothing more, invisibility has taught me my nose to classify the stenches of death."
--Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man (1947)

I suffer from springtime depression as well. Most people don't realize it, but the time when suicide rates are highest in the Northern hemisphere is not the recognized December holiday season, but Spring: April specifically.
With the current climate of consciousness, and for me the economic climate in my country of residence, I wonder how we'll ever get our message across. Is everything all in vain? I keep trying, because I think it's very important. Even if it only ever comes across posthumously, I have to do it. For better or worse, it is my calling. He tells me he's sorry for any distress becoming involved in this has caused me. But I don't blame him. I blame all the fuckers putting up roadblocks at every turn!
Someday we'll reflect on what we've gone through. And if in the end we made a difference, we'll celebrate together with the few that dare to see things our way.