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But I will not complain. In the new house I am being taken very good care of. There is a woman dressing in white in my charge. Don’t ask me her name, I don’t remember. But she does talk to me very sweet, and she tickles me when she changes my clothes. The house has many corridors and turns, like memory. There are some people who come to pay me visits from time to time. I don’t know who they are, but they keep crying most of the time. They look at me and they cry, as if I was an elephant tied up to a pole. I am the elephant and they are the kids, always crying and crying. I don’t know why. I feel just fine. The woman who minds me keeps telling me they are my sons and daughters, but I don’t remember them. I don’t even know if I ever had a wife. The question is that they suffer on my behalf, and I too suffer on theirs, because I never liked seeing people in pain. There we are! I have lost the thread again. What was I talking about?
Why elephants do not escape? » Subaltern Studies is gone ?!? cache is here☺ ↨ ☻
Do Not Go Gently Into That Good NightSaturday, January 6, 2007Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.
Please pardon my levity, I don't see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd.
RAW
(typed from his bedside at his fnord by the sea)
Labels: 11, crossings, elephant, empathy, mind, outsider, time
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