Best Bet

Before the invention of a special valve, the most popular way to kill oneself in London before 1960 was to stick one’s head in the gas stove and turn it on. Before adding one foot to the railing on the Golden Gate Bridge in 1983, it was the most popular suicide destination in the world. With these simple technologies, man has proved time and time again that he is the best at preventing himself from getting the better of himself.

It has been said

The wisest Chinese man in the world wasn’t even Chinese.

Mangoes

There is a place on the other side of the world where people eat mangoes, and they imagine they are eating apples, the kinds of apples we can eat whenever we want.

On Hope

There was an important lecture at the College de France by an eminent philosopher, though his ideas and methods had fallen out of favor in the past few years, called, enigmatically, “On Hope.” On the day when the lecture was supposed to take place, a letter went out and notices were put up that the lecture would be postponed for an indefinite amount of time. Many thought it was a joke, and that there was no lecture at all, that the postponement itself “was” the lecture. But after a few weeks, a notice went out stating that the lecture had been rescheduled for the following week. This time only a few showed up, the rest assuming that another notice of postponement would arrive at the eleventh hour, so to speak, and the performance of deferred “On Hope” continue. But the philosopher was indeed there, and not perceiving the way his lecture was received, was so depressed by the meager turnout that he decided to postpone his own lecture indefinitely, and only spoke a few words about the personal tragedies that had afflicted his life in the past years, which had not only postponed the lecture scheduled for the previous month but had caused his silence over the last few years, which undoubtedly, he concluded, is why he has fallen into such unpopularity by the academy.

A vague sort of prison

Here is your bed, the warden said to the criminal. And this will probably be your bed for quite some time. – May I ask a question, said the criminal. – I suppose it’s up to you to know the answer to that question, the warden said. – Why are there no chains on this bed, the criminal asked. Why are there no locks on these doors? Why are there no walls surrounding this prison? – I don’t think there is any need, the warden said. Nothing keeps a criminal here but that he made a kind of confession, the kind of which you more or less made, and by doing so, he commits himself to a half-hearted acceptance to this prison, where no chains are necessary. – But what is to stop a person from escaping? – The criminal cannot escape his imprisonment here any more than I can escape my role as warden, the warden said, though without much conviction in what he said. Seeing the prisoner looked confused, the warden reluctantly added, - You see, this is a vague sort of prison. You were never sure what crime you committed, and neither are we. All you see is that the punishment matches the crime. I do not know whether you can escape, but I know that no one has ever left this prison. – Thank you, the criminal said, and sat on the bed though he really had no desire to. – Cheer up, the warden said, having nowhere else to do, but standing in the doorway as though leaving all the same. There are lots of women here.

Neither Misery nor Company

It was only when she discovered he had cheated on her for almost two years, and he finally admitted that he had never forgiven her for aborting his child, and they went back and forth saying the most hurtful things to one another, that he saw her again as though for the first time, and thought, What a beautiful woman that is, so unknown to me, and what a perfect wife she would make, and she thought, What a strange man he is, hardly a man I could ever imagine myself loving, and yet I know I will think about him all night tonight and all day tomorrow.

What I heard

I was surprised when she told everyone there that she had killed herself. It must have been a turn of phrase.

One Death

She clutched her mother’s hand. Her mother said that she was dying and that she was thirsty. She brought her mother a glass of water and said that she (her mother) was old but maybe she wasn’t dying just yet. Her mother told her daughter that she was going to die any moment and that they should say their goodbyes now. Her daughter didn’t know what to say, so she asked her mother to begin by saying goodbye. Her mother told her daughter that she had lived a long life and that she had had a happy life and that she (her daughter) was always been her favorite. They laughed and her daughter told her mother to be serious, but half-seriously. Her mother asked her daughter what she (her daughter, or anyone) says when saying goodbye. Her daughter told her mother that she (her daughter) usually just says something like, “I will see you later.” Her mother said that that doesn’t apply in this case, because death is final and yet at the same time she (her mother) is not really going anywhere. Her daughter said that perhaps it could be shortened to something like, “I will see you.” Her mother said that that still implied something like, “I will see you later,” and that a dying person was better off saying something like, “I will” They laughed at this and she (her daughter) said, “I will what?” Her mother said that she didn’t know, maybe she meant something like, “I will die.” Her daughter said that that was stupid: no one tells a person they will die as a form of saying goodbye. “That’s a way to end goodbyes,” she continued. “Yes,” her mother said. “Maybe one should just say, ‘I.’” Her daughter asked her mother what “I” meant in that sense. Her mother said that a person should say “I” as much as they can before they die in order to understand who they have been and what they are about to lose. “It’s an identity that will no longer be,” she (her mother) said. Her daughter agreed that this was true but that that was hardly a way of saying goodbye, but rather that was more of a philosophical point. She (her mother) told her daughter that she was right, that death had very little to do with saying goodbye, and that – if anything – death was more like saying hello. “Hello to whom?” Her daughter asked. “Hello to one’s self,” her mother said. “Or ‘oneself’” her daughter said. Her mother didn’t understand that. But then her mother (she)

Sleep

You sleep, you sleep, you sleep. You dream of sleep. You sleep and sleep in your sleep.

I own a gun

I own a big gun.

Spam Generating Spam

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Let Me Die

The writer of historical fiction does not just turn history into fiction, for historians already do that. The writer of historical fiction turns the history of fiction into fiction.

Medieval Date

During a blind date I met a woman at an Irish bar and we drank a lot of beer. She was tall and loud. I was lonely. We went to her apartment and had awkward sex. She was very sweaty and kept choking me. Her sweat fell down on my face and she screamed and screamed. Then she fell asleep. I went to the bathroom to clean up. I was going to sneak out, but I found some prescription drugs that I had heard were a good ride. I took four pills and lay back on her bed. An hour later the bedroom was filled with light and a golden chain covered with precious gems descended from the ceiling. Then I heard a kind of yawning sound from the floor. A putrid stench filled the room. Corpses with rotting flesh hanging from them were reaching up to the golden chain. They were in extreme pain. But their arms were always too short. The woman then shot up like a bolt in bed. She was looking right at me. The vision disappeared. I asked her if she saw that. She nodded. I asked her what it meant. – First you must find the golden crown located on the isle of Abundance to the west of this land, she said. There are treacherous narrows through which you must pass. A tricky lion guards the door of the castle. Then you must fight a terrible dragon. The crown is in the belly of that dragon. When you return the golden crown to me, I will then tell you the significance of the golden chain and the grave that opened up and the corpses of the dead who could not reach the golden chain. Well, how could I say no? She was certainly the most interesting woman I had dated.

Alarm

Don’t be alarmed, but I love you, I said. We were in a speeding car. That was a bad year.

Famously Rude

A very famous man was sitting in a room at a party and absolutely no one was talking to him. I introduced myself. He shook my hand and sneered at me. – I’m James, I told him. – I’ve never heard of you, he replied. – Well why would you? I replied. And that’s a strange way to respond to an introduction. – You bore me, he said. – I wasn’t trying to entertain you, I said. I only wanted to meet you. He stood up abruptly. – This seat is uncomfortable, he said, a look of annoyance on his face. – Well, you’re certainly a lot of fun to talk to, I said. I see what makes you so popular. I was hoping that some humor might cheer him up and get him to stop acting like a prick. He smiled and opened his mouth as though about to say something clever. Then he unzipped his pants. The room went quiet. He began urinating on my shoes. I was so shocked I just stood there, until I felt his urine seeping through my Converse sneakers. Everyone in the room stared, waiting for my reaction. – You’re incredibly rude, famous or not, I finally said, and walked upstairs to wash my shoes and socks in the bathtub. Later, the hostess knocked on the door. She apologized to me for his behavior and then handed me a sealed envelope. – He wanted me to tell you to call him, sometime. He said that you were the only person who talked to him all night and that he liked you. Confused, I opened the envelope. It was a blank business card with nothing but the words “YOU BORE ME” written on it in a ballpoint pen. I stomped downstairs, hoping to catch him as he was leaving. But he had not left. He was sitting in the same hard-backed chair, talking to no one, waiting for me. He stood up, and unzipped his pants. The room went quiet. I unzipped my pants. – It’s about time you started to play by my rules, he said.

The Lover's Complaint

I loved a man once. He used to be in the military. One day he went bonkers when he thought I was looking at another man. He killed my dog and then stabbed me right outside my mother’s house. He’s in prison now, making dangerous connections. Every week he sends me a letter in which he says he’s going to kill me because I am a whore. He gets out in three weeks. The police won’t help me because when I was seventeen I was arrested for prostitution. Oh love! What labor it is to lose the thing we had not; what witchcraft lies in the orb of a woman’s particular tear; etc. etc.