It is amusing how people call me up whenever a dark topic such as death appears. I should think those thoughts are best written in a private notebook, kept away from the eyes of others. But, you see, one wants to be read; and then one doesn't want to be read, if reading amounts to an attempt at understanding a person. Then the calls and text messages come through, and the author loses his mystery with every explanation of "I'm good, I'm doing well, that was nothing, just a thought." And one day when he really kills himself, it is only because nobody can or knows how to help anybody; talking solves nothing.
The man thinks about what it is like to be on his death-bed at seventy: "I'll probably conclude that my whole life is stupid, and then die." Better that one dies abruptly in an accident, so there isn't time for stupid conclusions.
The man thinks about what it is like to be on his death-bed at seventy: "I'll probably conclude that my whole life is stupid, and then die." Better that one dies abruptly in an accident, so there isn't time for stupid conclusions.
No comments:
Post a Comment