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boy: Do not try and empty the dishwasher. That’s impossible. Instead… only try to realize the truth.
Neo: What truth?
boy: There is no dishwasher.
Neo: There is no dishwasher?
boy: Then you’ll see, that it is not the dishwashers that needs to be emptied, it is only yourself.
“Si on en veut aux gens qui se suicident, c’est parce qu’ils ont toujours le dernier mot.” – Folle (2004)
Nelly died on thursday. She hung herself, they said. It wasn’t her first attempt, they said.
She seemed intelligent and happy enough, from what I saw of her. Now I’m all curious about her novels.
All these years driving to work, and admiring nature, I’ve often wondered about all the other people in their cars. Where are they all going and why? It hit me. We have no choice. There’s no such thing as freedom. We are all slaves. Slaves to our career. Slaves to our mortgage. Slaves to our car payments. Slaves to our desires.
Nature is just so amazing. I wish I could just stop the car and go walk in the fields whenever I spontaneously feel like it. Spend the day lying on the grass listening to birds and getting warmed up by the sun.
A Christian of today, for instance, no longer ought to cling obstinately to a one-sided credo, but should face the fact that Christianity has been in a state of schism for four hundred years, with the result that every single Christian has a split in his psyche. Naturally, this lesion cannot be treated or healed if everyone insists on his own standpoint. Behind those barriers he can rejoice in his absolute and consistent convictions and deem himself above the conflict, but outside them he keeps the conflict alive by his intransigence and continues to deplore the pig-headedness and stiff-neckedness of everybody else. It seems as if Christianity had been from the outset the religion of chronic squabblers, and even now it does everything in its power never to let the squabbles rest. remarkably enough, it never stops preaching the gospel of brotherly love.
C.G. Jung
En classant la paperasse qui envahissait mon bureau, j’ai retrouvé des lettres de C. Je n’ai pu m’empêcher de les lire. Je réalise enfin, après bientôt deux ans, l’étendue de ma perte. Je comprends maintenant tout, et le barrage a cédé. Deux années de douleurs et de peine retenues m’ont frappées de plein fouet. J’ai honte de la haine et de la colère que j’ai éprouvé envers elle. Je reconnais mes torts et je voudrais lui dire combien je suis désolé.
L’électrocardiogramme à l’effort n’a rien montré d’anormal. Je dois prendre rendez-vous pour des prises de sang.
Le coucher de soleil de ce soir était particulièrement magnifique.
Quelle est cette chose que je poursuis à travers le labyrinthe de mon inconscient? Pourquoi cette métamorphose quasi-reptillienne pour attraper cette minuscule souris?
Et ces bêtes qui me pourchassaient, l’autre nuit, était-ce pour ma perte ou pour m’empêcher de m’enfoncer plus profondément dans la forêt?
K et moi, inondés de la même tristesse inondante, nous nous sommes étendus sous les draps frais, nus, anéantis voluptueusement l’un par l’autre, dans la splendeur ponctuelle de notre poème et de l’aube. Notre étreinte aveuglante et le choc incantatoire de nos deux corps me terrassent encore ce soir, tandis qu’au terme de cette aube incendiée je me trouve couché seul sur une page blanche où je ne respire plus le souffle chaud de ma blonde inconnue, où je ne sens plus son poids qui m’attire selon un système copernicien et où je ne vois plus sa peau ambrée, ni ses lèvres inlassables, ni ses yeux sylvestres, ni le chant pur de son plaisir. Désormais seul dans mon lit paginé, j’ai mal et je me souviens de ce temps perdu retrouvé, passé nu dans la plénitude occulte de la volupté.
Hubert Aquin
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck, becoming progressively more and more depressed by what was happening around him, decided, finally, to off himself. There was no problem in the circles where he hung out in putting an end to yourself. You just bought a large quantity of downers and took them with some cheap wine. The planning part had to do with the artifacts he wanted found on him by later archeologists. He had spent several days deciding, much longer than he had spent deciding to kill himself. He would be found lying on his back, on his bed, with a copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead and an unfinished letter to Exxon, protesting the cancellation of his gas credit card. That way, he would indite the system, and achieve something by his death, over and above what the death itself achieved. At the last moment, he changed his mind on a decisive issue and decided to drink the pills with a connoisseur wine, instead of Ripple or Thunderbird. So he set off on one last drive, over to Tiny’s Liquors, which specialized in fine wines, and bought a bottle of 2001 Azalea Springs Merlot, which set him back almost seventy dollars. Back home again, he uncorked the wine, let it breathe, drank a few glasses of it, tried to think of something meaningful but could not, and then, with a glass of Merlot, gulped down all the pills at once. However, he had been burned. Instead of quietly suffocating, Charles Freck began to hallucinate. The next thing he knew, a creature from between dimensions was standing beside his bed, looking down at him disapprovingly.
Freck: You gonna read me my sins?
Creature nods
Freck: Eh, it’s gonna take a hundred thousand hours.
Creature: Your sins will be read to you ceaselessly, in shifts, throughout eternity. The list will never end.
Creature:starts reading”The Sins of Freck”
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck wished he could take back the last half hour of his life.
Creature: Creature continues to read “… theft of fingernail clippers…? “… you did knowingly and with malice…? “… punched your baby sister, Evelyn…? “… December, theft of Christmas presents…? “… one billion lies…?
Freck Suicide Narrator: One thousand years later, they had reached the sixth grade, the year he had discovered masturbation.
Creature: Creature continues to read “… November fourteenth, Percodan… *******… Cocaine…?
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck thought, “At least I got a good wine.”
It seems to be very hard for people to live with riddles or to let them live, although one would think that life is so full of riddles as it is that a few more things we cannot answer would make no difference. But perhaps it is just this that is so unendurable, that there are irrational things in our own psyche which upset the conscious mind in its illusory certainties by confronting it with the riddle of its existence.
Carl Gustav Jung, The philosophical tree
