“Alex Brilliant was reading Wittgenstein at sixteen, and writing poetry that rippled with ambiguities — double, triple, quadruple, like heart bypasses. He took a scholarship to Cambridge, after which I lost sight of him; but I would occasionally think of him down the years, assuming that he had forged ahead in one of the liberal professions. [...]
On Sunday night, my local haunt held a benefit concert for a friend who was lost to violence. The proceeds went to his five remaining children. As the event was to be held on a night the place is closed, and on a night when most folks hit the sack early in preparation for Monday [...]
It’s all so clear to me now, and I think it’s funny that it took a Kurt Vonnegut essay to make it so. I know what my problem is — I’m done with people. I’m tired to death of them. I’m tired of trying to understand what motivates people to do whatever it is they [...]
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