Dear diary,
Everyone likes children cuz they’re fresh new minds that spark up & catch fire easily, and they wonder about the world in funny ways, and they see things from their upside-down perspective. All that’s interesting, of course. But it’s a little too obvious. That’s why I say: Adults are ultimately more fascinating than children. For, to converse with an adult is very bland; it’s almost impossible — adults are so broken and rotted; they’re NOT like fine wine, they’re like spoiled wine. Adults are like vinegar. They’re beyond an “acquired taste”; they’re practically poisonous, and it takes a kingly soul who’s interested in acquiring not merely taste but immunity from angels to achieve true love for human adults.
A child will say “I hate to work, but I love to play.” That’s charming, and I agree with any child who says this; but, again, it’s too pat; I prefer the adult stance — you talk to an adult and they’re like:
“I hate work, but I also hate play. I wish to avoid pain at all costs; but I’m also bored with pleasure. I don’t know why I exist, and I resent everything about this world. I am an adult, and adults are the fruition of children, and for this reason I honor children and even brought forth children of my own; and I say that I love my children, but I secretly despise them. Also the purpose of adults is to fit into society by way of performing some type of calling. So I found my calling; and I say that I’m proud of my calling, but I’d leave it in a heartbeat, only if doing so would not bankrupt me (callings are tied to subsistence, in hell). Moreover, I try to engage in this nightmare fairly, so I relinquished myself to the net of social life, which is truly a worldwide web: I entered marriage and developed friendships and remained dutiful to my family. Now, when I look at my spouse & my family & friends, I see only enemies. I’m desperately lonely but I can’t stand anyone’s company. I want nothing more than to quit this farce, yet when I imagine actually dying, it scares me stupid: I recoil from the thot, and clutch to life in cowardice. Thus basely, I prolong my wretched existence. Also, I dislike talking to you; you annoy me.”
See what I mean? Now THAT’s an interesting soul. THAT’s someone I’d like to get to know better. This hypothetical person who we’ve invented to represent the average adult has won my heart. I’m head-over-heels in love with this sad obscenity, and yet I don’t even know her name: I forgot to ask it, when she was talking just now; and she left on the private jet already, which came and picked her up — we watched it speed off, lift up off the runway and glide for a spell, then crash down into the sea. News soon reached us that none of the passengers survived. So I guess she got her wish. What a perfection of energies! She was God’s masterpiece.
[Now I’ll end this entry with a string of quotes...]
One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry. As we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn’t see me at all, but I’ll bet a month hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought of that girl.
[Those are the words of Mr. Bernstein, from the movie Citizen Kane (1941); screenplay by Herman J. Mankiewicz and Orson Welles.]
Johnny takes Gilda to safety in Mundson’s house. After declaring their undying hatred for each other, they passionately kiss. Hearing the front door slam, they realise Mundson has overheard everything. Johnny pursues him to a waiting private airplane. The plane explodes in midair and plummets into the ocean.
[That’s from the encyclopedia’s plot synopsis for the film Gilda (1946); story by E.A. Ellington.]
There came a messenger unto Job, and said, “The oxen were plowing, and the asses feeding beside them: and the Sabeans fell upon them, and took them away; yea, they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.”
While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, “The fire of God is fallen from heaven, and hath burned up the sheep, and the servants, and consumed them; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.”
While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, “The Chaldeans made out three bands, and fell upon the camels, and have carried them away, yea, and slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.”
While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, “Thy sons and thy daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother’s house: and, behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are dead; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.”
[That’s from The Book of Job, 1:14-19.]
So, floating on the margin of the ensuing scene, and in full sight of it, when the half-spent suction of the sunk ship reached me, I was then, but slowly, drawn towards the closing vortex. When I reached it, it had subsided to a creamy pool. Round and round, then, and ever contracting towards the button-like black bubble at the axis of that slowly wheeling circle, like another Ixion I did revolve. Till, gaining that vital centre, the black bubble upward burst; and now, liberated by reason of its cunning spring, and, owing to its great buoyancy, rising with great force, the coffin life-buoy shot lengthwise from the sea, fell over, and floated by my side. Buoyed up by that coffin . . . I floated on a soft and dirge-like main.
[That’s from Moby-Dick; or The Whale, by Herman Melville.]
Very early in the morning the first day of the week, they came unto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun. And they said among themselves, “Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?”
And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: for it was very great.
And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment; and they were affrighted.
And he saith unto them, “Be not affrighted: Ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is risen; he is not here: behold the place where they laid him. But go your way, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there shall ye see him, as he said unto you.”
And they went out quickly, and fled from the sepulchre; for they trembled and were amazed: neither said they any thing to any man; for they were afraid.
[That’s from The Gospel According to Mark, 16:2-8.]
You thought I died that night, didn’t you? . . . I thought it simpler to disappear for a while. I came to the house to get Gilda, to take her with me. But I found her occupied with you, Johnny. . . . By the time the police reached the plane wreckage, I was gone to the launch I had waiting. You didn’t see me parachute out. You weren’t seeing very clearly that night anyway. Emotion is so apt to cloud the brain, isn’t it?
[That’s Ballin Mundson’s speech, from Gilda (1946); this last quote is from the actual movie, written by Jo Eisinger, Marion Parsonnet, and apparently an uncredited Ben Hecht.]
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