"There's the disembodied voice of death, and then there's DEATH."

An unpleasant but not entirely unexpected sequel to Spalding Gray's disappearance last January.

One of the events I enjoyed most while living in north Texas was making an after-work road trip from Plano down to Waco to hear Gray do one of his monologues at the Hippodrome Theater. And of course I'd enjoyed seeing Swimming to Cambodia and Monster in a Box on video. It amazed me then, and still amazes me in retrospect, that with nothing more than his voice, facial expressions, and a few minimal props, he was able to keep people's attention for the full hour and a half. A truly gifted storyteller. Ironically, Morning Noon and Night, as I remember it, deals largely with the interplay between Gray's morbid fascination with death and the vibrant life that he saw in his wife and children. The monologue closed with a sense of hope, a sense of looking toward the future, a sense that his family's love had saved him from his darker obsessions.

Can't help but wonder how those kids feel right now.

I believe that people have the right to end their own lives if they so desire. And I understand that Gray's recent automobile accident had resulted in a lot of pain and perhaps some disabilities. But what is permissible is not always wise or admirable. When one is surrounded by family or friends who love and depend on one, when it is possible to live with honor, and when so many who richly deserve to live are unfairly snuffed out for no apparent reason, committing suicide is nothing more than self-absorption and cowardice.

Bad show, Spalding.