Subject: and finally....
From: Scottie Bowman (rbowman@indigo.ie)
Date: Tue May 23 2000 - 02:29:21 GMT
My Son The Freudian - glancing over my shoulder
at our recent discussion of the Blessed Seymour's death
- points out something so obvious that I shrivel at
having missed it. (And confide would have registered
it immediately, before any other feature, in an actual
clinical situation.)
Seymour doesn't kill himself tactfully & decently
behind some private sand dune - but on the bed next
to his wife. With such a close drilling there may not
have been a very large exit wound, but possibly enough
to spatter her lightly with a little pink stuff. How better
to leave her with a lifetime of self-reproach?
This has certainly been the effect on such relatives
as I've known who had to try to live with similar
public immolations. As the Poles say:
'The peasant hangs himself at the landlord's door.'
It's the act of a man drowning in hatred. So much
for the benefits of Zen Buddhism.
Scottie B.
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