I had to dnf this book, not because it's bad (it's not), but because it was making me really fucking sad at a time when I'm already really fucking sad.

I don't know why I'm so obsessed with this person who died before I knew he existed. Maybe it's the sheer unfairness of it all. The universe randomly took out a true visionary and (by all accounts) all around good person at the ripe old age of 24. Yes, Cliff was a part of a band that I love more than is probably healthy. But Cliff was more than Metallica. He was a creative force of nature putting beauty into the world. Even if metal isn't your jam, get on youtube or whatever and listen to "Orion." It's an instrumental masterwork that deserves a place of honor with the standard pantheon of classical greats. When Cliff died, a light was snuffed out, not just in terms of metal or even music, but in terms of humanity's capability for artistic creation. And it's not fair. 

P.S. I'm not one of those assholes who wishes it had been Lars instead of Cliff. That's fucked up and uncalled for. I wish no one had died.