If death wasn’t such a very simple humdrum thing, even death would become ridiculous by the tinsel griefs, the red eyes and black crape and all the silliness of people making themselves miserable because they think they ought to be.
As for the expense, they cost no more than the kind of rest-home or nursing-home you might find, that you would want me to end my life in. There are a few, perhaps, but we all know that most of them are simply living graveyards…and that living corpses are not often treated as decently as dead ones.
Things came to a climax this past week when a Jewish society photographer in the first floor studio gave a party and Mrs. Anderson expressed her indignation at their revelry by pouring a bucket of water through her kitchen floor which is directly over the studio and caused a near-riot among the guests.
And there are drawbacks also to Solitude, who is a sublime mistress, but an intolerable wife.
I would be very interested to hear your comments on the ethical alternative I discuss in that article—the example of the husband who has to choose between saving his wife or ten other women. Would you care to tell me which choice you would consider morally right?
I am going to set a hen on some turkey eggs this spring to tone myself up and prove that a man can fail at more things than one.
The life of our Middle West is so big and various, so ugly and so beautiful, that one vcannot generalize about it. All one can do is to write of what came against one’s own door-step, so to speak.
A lot of fairly conservative people (and the inflation has made a lot of people fairly conservative) speak continually of Communism; but I’m going all out for some form of sun worship.
They seem exactly like what I’d always wanted, vaguely, to hear and never had, and really “contemporary.” That strange kind of modesty that I think one feels in almost everything contemporary one really likes—Kafka, say, or Marianne, or even Eliot, and Klee and Kokoschka and Schwitters…Modesty, care, space, a sort of helplessness but determination at the same time.
Encumbering Dull Knife with a fictitious son to steal the wife of his father’s great co-leader, Little Wolf, seems overt libel to me, compounded by the spurious killing of this non-existent son by Little Wolf. This is like making a picture in which Madison is given a son to steal the wife of Jefferson, who kills him for it.