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And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.

Jeff Lindsay

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Jeff Lindsay
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: July 14
Novelist
Playwright
Writer
Miami
Florida
Jeffry P. Freundlich
Jeffry P. Lindsay
Silence
Almost
Secret
Away
Pounded
Night
Roar
Music
Drowned
Self
Quiet
Deep

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I looked around the store and what I saw was not very encouraging. There were rows and rows of violent toys...aisle after aisle of training devices for recreational slaughter. No wonder our world was such a mean and violent place...if we teach children that killing is fun, can we really be surprised if now and then someone is smart enough to learn?
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I nodded with genuine synthetic sympathy.
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Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?
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been there done that, bought the t-shirt Chapter 2
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But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.
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And once again I found myself wondering, as I drifted off to stunned and unbelieving sleep:How do these terrible things always happen to me?
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...being torn apart by far too many loyalties that could not possibly live together in the same brain.
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But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am as I said, no rest for the wicked.
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Me, feeling. What a concept.
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And as we should all know by now, anytime you predict failure you have an excellent chance of being right.
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In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.
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The key to a happy life is to have accomplishments to be proud of and purpose to look forward to, and at the moment I had both. How wonderful it was to be me.
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Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.
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No big deal. We all have blood in us, the trick is keeping it inside.
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What a terrible thing life can be.
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What do you want a clock for?” “To find out what time it is,” I said. “I think that’s the usual purpose.
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I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don't know, but I'm almost there. I hear my friends calling.
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A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.
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Could this be the Apocalypse ?
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Feeling - what authentic human fun!
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