it's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse a woman, a tire that's flat, a disease, a desire: fears in front of you, fears that hold so still you can study them like pieces on a chessboard... it's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse. death he's ready for, or murder, incest, robbery, fire, flood... no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies that send a man to the madhouse... not the death of his love but a shoelace that snaps with no time left ... The dread of life is that swarm of trivialities that can kill quicker than cancer and which are always there - licence plates or taxes or expired driver's license, or hiring or firing, doing it or having it done to you, or roaches or flies or a broken hook on a screen, or out of gas or too much gas, the sink's stopped-up, the landlord's drunk, the president doesn't care and the governor's crazy. lightswitch broken, mattress like a porcupine; $105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at sears roebuck; and the phone bill's up and the, market's down and the toilet chain is broken, and the light has burned out - the hall light, the front light, the back light, the inner light; it's darker than hell and twice as expensive. then there's always crabs and ingrown toenails and people who insist they're your friends; there's always that and worse; leaky faucet, christ and christmas; blue salami, 9 day rains, 50 cent avocados and purple liverwurst. or making it as a waitress at norm's on the split ...
http://www.theplumbing.net
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