THE SPARK THAT BLED
Overheard, this morning, in the doorway of Snowden’s Greengrocers, Cross Roads:
Albert Snowden: Its a sad end
Man: He were eighty you know
Albert: I didn’t know he cut his wrists
Man: (turning to walk away, smiling) Not another one
Albert: (bellowing) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! (turns to me) Yes love.
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‘There is a point where any adult attempt at understanding becomes an absurdity. Eventually, we look at the griefs we’re offered by experience, and there we are: inconsolable, powerless to dispel their weight through rationalization of acceptance. That is what seems to unite every disparate soul.. finally: we’re all helpless’
Mark Doty, ‘Dog Years’, Jonathan Cape, 2008
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‘ ** Is the real point of my life simply to undergo as little pain and as much pleasure as possible? My behaviour sure seems to indicate that this is what I believe, at least a lot od the time. But isn’t this a kind of selfish way to live? forget selfish – isn’t it awful lonely? ** ‘
David Foster Wallace, ‘Joseph Frank’s Dostoevsky’ in ‘Consider the Lobster and Other Essays’ Abacus, 2005
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