| Mr. Jack - A Novel | Fiction | Notes from the LES | Dreams |
||
|
micklexington.com > Fiction |
||
|
The Glory of Love |
All western literature is based on antagonismKurt Vonnegut referred to it as the first virtual reality. I would redefine this as a reality where Verisimilitude takes precedence over perfection. Writing has been described as the paring of opposites, a joyful participation in the sorrows. Keep in mind all western literature is based on antagonism; the great-grandparent of all western literature, The Iliad, where it all stems from, is a fifteen thousand line poem about anger. The Glory of LoveWhen Chuck Tooley was single all he thought about was having a girlfriend.
Now that he’s found one all he can think about is fucking Tammy, the
bartender at his local haunt. With the aid of Topper, his coke dealer
friend, chuck devises a plan that will make everyone happy, he thinks.
No One but the BraveOn the hero's journey Joseph Campbell writes: We need not risk the
journey alone, we need only to trace the thread of the hero path, where
we had thought we would find an abomination we shall find a God, where
we had thought we shall slay another we shall slay ourselves, where
we have thought to travel outward we shall come to the center of our
own existence, where we have thought we shall be alone we will find
the world. To Die AloneWe're born alone, and we die alone, and in between we lead a life under
both deliberate and accidental circumstances. To Die Alone
raise the question; Are we responsible for the accidental occurrences
in the same way we are responsible for our deliberate decisions? We
do not have a choice in the conditions of our birth but do we have the
privilege of choosing the conditions of our death and in choosing so,
atone for our failures of responsibility. NebraskaSometimes you just got to get away, and sometimes, that's not even
far enough. Yet on a long enough time line everyone chance of survival
eventually drops off to zero. |
There is something else which has the power to
awaken us to the truth. It is the works of writers of genius. . . .
They give us, in the guise of fiction, something equivalent to the actual
density of the real, that density which life offers us every day but
which we are unable to grasp because we are amusing ourselves with lies.
— Simone Weil |