NYT obituary of my grandmother's long time dear friend, Hyman Bloom, a man as soft and sweet as his other-wordly visionary paintings were jarring and raw.
i just caught the obit and she never mentioned it when i last spoke to her so i have no idea if she knows. i have to call her now but i'm dreading it. every loss she suffers seems to manifest itself as a loss of physical weight, as if she is becoming less of a person as the people around her disappear. and i'm not sure if there's anything left to loose at this point.
fuck.
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