CW: suicide  

It’s an unfortunate structural reality that the Nass appears in print about two weeks after we collect the content that makes up the magazine. Enough time elapses to generally inhibit committed journalistic work or timely commentary on campus happenings. Not to excuse the things the Nass sleepwalks through. Or to excuse the miserable, halfway ironic, alleged think-pieces we often toss out whenever we muster enough juice to actually write something. It’s how it goes. 

The death of a student happens with terrifying immediacy, and immediacy can make it easy or even necessary to fall back on defeatist, catch-all language and little fatalisms like “tragedy,” which Eisgruber has been very quick to invoke. Not that I think I can do any better in this spatially limited letter from the editor. An opinionist at the Prince has opined far more cogently than I ever could. Coverage from the Prince, PAW, and other local publications assembles a story that we cannot possibly excavate in words we know. There are many failures of language. 

The Nass is calling all kids. These days, there’s nothing new to say except, “I love you,” and even that one’s getting old. I want to say the same old things over and over again. I want to live with the people I love, and I don’t want it to ever end. That’s the only predestination I’m really interested in. Last night, we talked way more than we had any right to. Then, we danced for a while. I don’t know. I’ll take my bets on eternity.

Only love, 

Charlie Nuermberger

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