The Living Ghost of Jerome David

7 Dec

I don’t know how or why, but at three o’clock in the morning, among all the water falling on my shoulders, I think of Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut.
The rabbit says: “Conrad had it right. But also, the heart of darkness can be found going down the river, too.”
It’s cryptic, out of context like that, but I somehow get it.
We are masters at hurting ourselves.
“You are an exurbanite living in a phony world.”
The rabbit says.
“No matter how nice, you cannot live in this world. You are banished to the phony-ness of what exists.”
Bananafish.
The nice world of children.
Then I see Teddy staring out of the porthole of that ship. I see Teddy staring at those orange peels floating on the water. And I get no sense of history, suddenly. None whatsoever. I see Teddy McArdle. My child rinpochet.
Buddha.

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One Response to “The Living Ghost of Jerome David”

  1. slyboots2 07/12/2007 at 11:57 PM #

    You’ve been hitting the bookshelves again, haven’t you?

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