This is the kind of thing that drives me up the wall. One the one hand, it’s certainly sensible to (and I think we should) get kids psychiatric help who are depressed, partially because they’re being bullied by their peers. But how much more sense does it make to get the bullies psychological help??! If maladjusted jackasses weren’t treating everyone else like shit, then fewer sensitive (feeling, receptive, uncallous, open-minded) kids would feel like killing themselves.
Woman: Yes, it is.
Allen: What does it say to you?
Woman: It restates the negativeness of the universe. The hideous lonely emptiness of existence. Nothingness. The predicament of man forced to live in a barren, godless eternity like a tiny flame flickering in an immense void with nothing but waste, horror, and degradation, forming a useless, bleak straitjacket in a black, absurd cosmos.
Allen: What are you doing Saturday night?
Woman: Committing suicide.
Allen: What about Friday night?
Back my book on this site to help get it read by editors.
Multiple times, the image, surfacing for me in dreams and writing, of me getting a boat that is big enough for one, or hardly more than one. I don’t think that for me it is primarily a suicide image, although that’s how I’m using it in my book Things Said in Dreams. I think it makes a good suicide image. But I think for me it is about another kind of trip that is taken alone. A life trip, in my case, but a trip that really only one person is on.