This is about the sometimes overwhelming sadness felt when focusing on the immensity of all that is wrong in the world. Certain things are a cure for pulling me out of this mindset: love, music, wandering aimlessly, riding my bike, and walking through the woods. Coming from a crumbling industrial city in the Midwest the industrial landscape always brings back a melancholic state of mind for me. A bleak skyline of smoke stacks is a fond memory of youth. Somehow those gray skies are filled with hope and longing; they remind me of my grandfather and granduncles who all worked in breweries for their entire lives, and my other grandfather who was a tanner. The title for this comes from my grandfather, who when asked how his father died always said: "he died for want of breath".
signed edition of 50 (first edition)
