A favorite phrase of Il Douchebag, which he often applies without any reasonable signification, is “like a dog.” While watching the fascist horror arising in Portland, Oregon, and wondering about where the kidnapped protestors might be taken for further interrogation and bodily harm, I was reminded of Franz Kafka’s The Trial. The link occurs in the final lines of Kafka’s great novel:
Where was the judge he’d never seen? Where was the high
court he’d never reached? He raised his hands and spread
out all his fingers.
But the hands of one man were right at K.’s throat,
while the other thrust the knife into his heart and
turned it there twice. With failing sight K. saw how
the men drew near his face, leaning cheek-to-cheek
to observe the verdict. “Like a dog!” he said; it seemed
as though the shame was to outlive him.
Continue reading “The Letter Z”
Remembering Shirley Knight: In the 1960s there were a dozen films that made such an impact on me that I often think of them after over fifty years. This is one.
Continue reading “Dutchman”
The subject has come up in several venues and I found it a useful exercise to consider all the things one might engage in to pass the time while living in isolation from the shadow of the Covid-19 pandemic.
First, I have a literary bucket list gathering many of those big fat, possibly difficult books I know I should read but never seem to have the time or the inclination. Do you have a bucket list too? Maybe now is a good time to start one. There’s a good chance that, despite all his best efforts, Der Drump (Dishonest John) will not kill us all off and we might truly make a dent in that scary ol’ bucket list.
So what to do while avoiding social contact?
Continue reading “Mumblety-peg”
When I was in college I regularly would drive down to my folks’ place in San Diego. I can’t tell you how many times late on a Friday night I would be driving down the Freeway with my car door open watching the lane markers slowly go by as I was essentially driving blind in a thick coastal fog. It was actually damn scary.
Have you ever wandered deep into the woods on a dark and moonless night only to stop suddenly, realizing that you had no idea where you were or if you were about to step into a prairie dog hole and break your leg only to be found three-days later half-eaten by drooling carnivores and nibbled on by ubiquitous insects.
Heavy fog is much like the black of night.
Continue reading “Turn the Defibrillator Up To Eleven”