Due to temporal disturbances, this month’s titles will only be available during the Nixon administration and for three days at every Mayan new year. Last month’s confiscations can be found here.
This month’s sample selection comes from the Fourth Apoplexy of Bell & Tyrwhitt’s “Unspeakable Dread.”
Where am I? Where am I going? Nowhere. I am going to this meeting, but it is nowhere. I do not want to go to this meeting. I do not want to see these people. I do not want to pretend to care about all of the things they pretend to care about. They pretend to care and I pretend to care about their caring and we both pretend we don’t know the other is pretending. She pretends to make a joke and I pretend to laugh. He pretends to think and I pretend he isn’t thoughtless. All of us pretend all of this matters when we all know it does not matter, and we all know everyone else knows it does not matter, but we all go on pretending. How does it stop? Perhaps if I scream. Perhaps if I scream right here, right now. One long wail, as a Viking over a fallen comrade or a Hun over his steed. Perhaps if I dropped to my knees, right here in this office, and raised my hands and wailed at the death of us, if I beat my chest and growled unutterable truths, maybe these people would wake, and if they woke, maybe I would, too, and we could be happy, instead of sitting in this meeting, counting the drops of our souls.
But I do not wail. I do not beat my chest. I smile, and another part of me dies.
That’s all for this month. See you next time.