Essays, Fictions, Etc. -
by Anthony G. Herles
I have just returned from the university where I attended Professor Koffakoff’s lecture on STUDENT BEHAVIOR. Phew! I spit on it! I have returned to my apartment -- phew! I spit on it -- fit for a midget, no closet for my suits, no room for a computer, for a TV, for a bookcase for my first editions. This finally has become too much to bear. Suddenly, I have decided to reject it all, to become part of the vanguard for the new world. Yes, yes, I will revolt. I will join the crusade to destroy the status quo, to end this monarchy. Phew! I spit on it! I shall contribute to the reconstruction of the Russian language, the crusade will erase the word “czar” (or is it “tsar”?), and I will be instrumental in removing the letter “K” from the Russian alphabet. I will reject my station, give away my suits, phew, I spit on them. I shall wear peasant clothing. I will suffer. My fiancee has died and I am sorry for that, she is suffering no longer. For that I rejoice. But, for not having a wife I am also sorry, perhaps marriage would have taught me more about suffering. I rejoice that I must suffer, I spit on the good life. No more steaks, mashed potatoes, gravy, or cranberry sauce -- phew! I spit on it. I will go days without food and then have soup, good, clear Russian soup, soup so clear I will be able to see the splinters at the bottom of the bowl. I rejoice! I must not be tied to any superficial obligations: family, friends, debts. As I suffer, I must write all of this down. I will not use paragraphing, phew, I spit on it. Let those who read this suffer, squint, read until their eyes ache. Suddenly I realize this is all too cowardly, too simple. I must do something dramatic, histrionic. After all, Nietzsche says I am free, I can do anything. A robbery, perhaps? No, no, an assassination? Yes! I rejoice! But now I must stop and have my tea. I must have my tea, I need my tea, because. . . because I have run out of spit. Phew.
Saturday, 16 January 2010 22:47
I have just returned from the university where I attended Professor Koffakoff’s lecture on STUDENT BEHAVIOR. Phew! I spit on it! I have returned to my apartment -- phew! I spit on it -- fit for a midget, no closet for my suits, no room for a computer, for a TV, for a bookcase for my first editions. This finally has become too much to bear. Suddenly, I have decided to reject it all, to become part of the vanguard for the new world. Yes, yes, I will revolt. I will join the crusade to destroy the status quo, to end this monarchy. Phew! I spit on it! I shall contribute to the reconstruction of the Russian language, the crusade will erase the word “czar” (or is it “tsar”?), and I will be instrumental in removing the letter “K” from the Russian alphabet. I will reject my station, give away my suits, phew, I spit on them. I shall wear peasant clothing. I will suffer. My fiancee has died and I am sorry for that, she is suffering no longer. For that I rejoice. But, for not having a wife I am also sorry, perhaps marriage would have taught me more about suffering. I rejoice that I must suffer, I spit on the good life. No more steaks, mashed potatoes, gravy, or cranberry sauce -- phew! I spit on it. I will go days without food and then have soup, good, clear Russian soup, soup so clear I will be able to see the splinters at the bottom of the bowl. I rejoice! I must not be tied to any superficial obligations: family, friends, debts. As I suffer, I must write all of this down. I will not use paragraphing, phew, I spit on it. Let those who read this suffer, squint, read until their eyes ache. Suddenly I realize this is all too cowardly, too simple. I must do something dramatic, histrionic. After all, Nietzsche says I am free, I can do anything. A robbery, perhaps? No, no, an assassination? Yes! I rejoice! But now I must stop and have my tea. I must have my tea, I need my tea, because. . . because I have run out of spit. Phew.