He was a poet, a very good one at that. I used to hang around with him a long time ago. Almost 15 years back, I wrote a Livejournal entry about him and his obsession with Tom Waits. He read it and didn't like it much; I sort of apologised but kept the entry anyway. We remained in each other's peripheral vision over the years.
I'm not big on over-the-top emotion, especially one I don't feel entitled to (as I wasn't close to him). Yet, he was a friend to a number of my friends who I hold very dear. Tonight, they are all restless, distraught and disturbed, and will probably remain so for a very long time. I feel a part of their pain. I wish with all my might for this not to have happened. But it has, because life - and death - and other people - do not owe us anything. And, as I keep thinking, another man's soul is darkness.
Sometimes, tonight, I wish I believed in afterlife. But I don't, so this is all there is.
So, all I can say is, V, rest in peace.