I get that Philip Seymour Hoffman had an addiction. I get that he was a sensitive person who ate himself up with his intensity and devotion to his work.
And I get that there is a black hole staring back at all of us.
And I know that there are few, if any, who can match, Hoffman’s talent, his roles in Happiness, Magnolia, Doubt and on stage as Willy Loman.
But I’m still pissed off at the guy. His death makes me lousy. Not sad. Mad.
His energy is gone, fucking gone. I can’t forgive him. Not yet.
And I expect it to be a while before that changes, considering that I’ve yet to forgive Jerry Garcia for his dumb-ass death…18 years back..