"You didn't cut the vagus nerve ." Robert Mitchum
My coolness toward the media's love of combat with diagnosis is due to the fact that, much like Kurt Vonnegut, I want another way, an interstice, and Vonnegut found it through the merger of speculative conceits, like the time shifting in Slaughterhouse Five, his novel which uses Celine too as a template. Both Lyon and Atu Gawande might argue that they both upgrade the conventions of death porn, that we are slowly coming to the maturity of defining it back as part of a process which we already know, even if we're not digging around anatomy websites, but all of this classification invites weariness, as well as boredom, to those without any revitalization.
Vonnegut is just as dead as my grandfather. The two men were the same approximate age, but Vonnegut found a way to bring me into a peace accord with his swirling farce and dramatic tenor around Billy that the liberal story arc doesn't (Being Mortal, Iris)
Am I posting around my pain, like an epileptic card player on Yabberz? Certainly, but I am footnoting things for later on that are worth pursuing. I've read up a little Celine, and I am the most like him, of any known writer not quite in the top tier celebrity rack, and much like Celine, I do not reject the use of physicality in the argument.
Can I beat the shit out of Erik's attendant? Excessive force, applied against what he sees as a normal way to treat a woman, that he does understand; because he's a moron, he also provided me with fresh legal weapons.
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