tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72610872176114296002011-12-28T09:22:33.786-08:00There is always a reason to live. There is seldom a reason to live well.BC Basshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03955077314348723159noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261087217611429600.post-6795979365391277152011-10-03T14:54:00.000-07:002011-10-03T14:54:27.624-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k1AM8pRR7Ts/Toou4i6TODI/AAAAAAAAC68/Y68jMAH9vwM/s1600/dull_boy_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k1AM8pRR7Ts/Toou4i6TODI/AAAAAAAAC68/Y68jMAH9vwM/s640/dull_boy_02.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br />Jack practices smiling in the mirror each day before work. He can describe the sight only as eerie and grotesque.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7261087217611429600-679597936539127715?l=dullboyjack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>BC Basshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03955077314348723159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261087217611429600.post-2631697955104139012011-10-01T13:21:00.000-07:002011-10-01T13:21:32.466-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6lcQhJrJG_U/Tod1oUvfNuI/AAAAAAAAC6o/WiIKe1BnAV8/s1600/jack-one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="472" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6lcQhJrJG_U/Tod1oUvfNuI/AAAAAAAAC6o/WiIKe1BnAV8/s640/jack-one.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Jack understands fear. For Jack, fear comes from the common and the vulgar, because true fear rarely takes the form of big things like nuclear war, widespread famine, catastrophic natural disasters, the death of children, the end of the world, or godlessness and fascism. The big things are unavoidable. The big things are incomprehensible. In the lexicon of fear, these are the mundane things. Real fear is born in what most people consider the mundane -- the everyday, pedestrian realities of the world’s little towns and neighborhoods. Real fear, like Sartre’s hell, is other people. What they do behind closed doors. What they say behind your back. The perverse acts they might reveal to you one day at a party. The invitations they may extend.<br /><br />Real fear is knowing that tomorrow you will wake. And that everything will be the same. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7261087217611429600-263169795510413901?l=dullboyjack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>BC Basshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03955077314348723159noreply@blogger.com0