He was a star.
His nova is over.
After he died, he kindly
removed his mask,
revealing himself to all.
He who devoted his life to becoming
genderless,
ageless,
nameless.
He who hid himself for the sake of his art.
He who made himself become
an invisible voice as a
stepping stone to
becoming something greater:
a messenger of his own words.
He devoted his life
To meticulously transcribing
his own messages
into his own words
in his own font and delivering it
to his people anonymously.
He was faithful until the very end.
He gave his talent,
his livelihood,
and asked for
nothing in return.
Not even recognition.
He gave all that he had until
his supernova,
his judgment day,
his detonation.
He will never create anything else.
I’m not sure which loss is greater:
his life
or his art.
Regardless, in the midst of the destruction,
We will love him more than ever before.
In the wreckage, he became
Art.
Let us rejoice him quietly.
Let us mourn him quietly.