It was so cold out in the middle of nowhere. The few mice that scurried by were unable to dig. So I dug out a bit of sand for them. Then put some paper cone shaped cups in the depression to keep the sand from filling in. The idea was to create little shelters for them to escape the cold. At one point it felt like my tooth fell out. Now the exercise was to simulate what would happen if one was caught under fifty tons of rock. You weren’t allowed to have any heavy equipment or explosives. The time to accomplish this feat was equally limited as well. Occasionally someone would call in from home to see how things were going. They needed to see if the contestant in question would be washed out of the competition as they couldn’t figure out the necessary procedures. There always being a way if one had sufficient will to keep trying. The most direct method of attack was to figure how to pry away the right stones with a sledge or crowbar to avalanche the rest to the side without crushing those trapped beneath down below in the center. The Pearlstein’s, frozen anger, frozen in time, plastered messages! The contestants nosing around the pile trying to find some clue as to the best way to proceed. Realizing early that every moment taken away was another irrecoverable moment lost. This problem demanding that it must be calculated before resorting to trial and error. The exercise had been devised by party officials as more of a trap than an honest competition. Yet, the young contestants refused to give up.
The man was found waylaid in an exclusively gay part of town, the streets of which were crawling. He was tagging along with somebody who was on their beat. In and out of shops checking on the general scene. While business was going down the other guy was hanging around making paper modeled doilies of the local architecture. Thinking that he was some kind of private eye in his spare time looking for needed to be solved murderers.
Somewhere by the old park near a further El stop next to where the Burger King drive in used to be stood a three-story building where the neighborhood’s oldest crime lord’s apartment used to be. Before it too had been torn down the same wanna-be gumshoe shared it with one of the Don’s younger gunsels. A big fella around that part of town who ran everything local. He and I would sit at the breakfast table with each of us pouring over our respective chores of the day to fulfill. His game plan for the day spread out on his side of the table and my own on the other end. Taking a look around the apartment in a judicious sort of way the border became familiar where knowing things were at. Occasionally the two would find themselves getting up together looking for something respectively important throughout the entire place. The younger finding it as if mentally connected with the object of the other’s thoughts. A psychic sense of power that had him calling out the exact location of the item quested for on behalf of the other. The Big Fella being appreciative of a suggestion as to where it might have last been seen. On and on this routine went forth ad infinitum.
Now later in the day on foot in a swanky well-protected suburb of the city located much farther west, the same young man was leisurely sauntering down a sidewalk past the many well-heeled estates. On and on he went as the terrain began to get tougher and the weather got colder. By the time the guy had made the turn towards the middle of town and the train back to the city the whole area was frozen with its the broken sidewalks now covered in snow. The amount and quality of the ice was amazing as if a number of gigantic snow crystals had melded together forming a complex filigree pattern. One spot in particular was more worthy of comment where the sidewalk had been upturned up by prior street construction. The weather had attempted an ice bridge producing a mad combination of complex patterns attempting to surmount the moat of a ditch. The collective impression suggested that of an explosion modeled in ice that had been flash frozen. The young man climbed up in gazing in wonder looking over toward the other side seeing at that point that any further progress would be denied and then got back down onto the sidewalk.
It was now evident as he stood next to this icy platform where the snow had been blown away that the pile that he had been standing upon was in fact a an old ice covered professional video projector. The upper portion of the plastic case of the device having been shattered by his weight as well as the subsequent load from another overly rotund fellow who had followed him up this parapet after he had jumped back down. Feeling a bit guilty the man impulsively threw three bucks onto the uncovered broken section and briskly turned back around the other way and began walking. Over his shoulder he could hear another new voice lambasting the heavyset guy for breaking his equipment. The issue of what it was doing out there in the first place never being explained in the subsequent verbal duel that erupted. A more authoritative voice boomed out the tenor of which belied that it must be coming from a bellowing member of law enforcement. “Did you break that?“, the voice sternly barked. The young man now in full speed retreat from the scene of the crime and its building altercation. So discombobulated was this initial perpetrator that he dropped his own camera and it shattered completely apart. The case splitting open like a ripe melon upon the ice covered hard sidewalk. It was obvious from the fact that most of its internals were scattered that there would be no way to repair it. Some divine form of justice having been dispensed for his hastily leaving the scene and not fessing up to his end of the situation. No matter however inadvertent it might have been. Pangs of nostalgia touched him as he mentally visualized the past times that he had used this same camera over the last two decades to capture all sorts of meaningful events pertinent to his own existence.
Further down the road stood a small one-story municipal structure. And within it was congealed a strange collection of offbeat items all adhered to the wall. Exploded artfully as if meant to be taken as some sort of formal artistic installation. One item in particular being a watch that had similarly exploded in a manner reminiscent as the man’s destroyed camera. Another marked similarity being apparent between the mirroring of the parts of one set applied upon the wall and the other set on the ground. To his further bewilderment a hidden projector was emblazoning a series of images on the wall that bore subjects and their compositions that were equally remarkably similar to those of his own series of same taken over many years. Somewhat dumbfounded he questioned another visitor some about the exhibit. The other person responded that the name of the installation was called, Broken Watches, and it augured the notion of time.
The next room through the adjoining doorway ahead seemed to serve a different task as a public shelter of some type. A number of people were sitting languishing on the floor to one side. One young black woman who was conservatively dressed woman had her attentions focused towards the opposite wall where a small wagon sat on the other side by an open exit. She sat there quietly and implacable indifferent to the few others withing. Some leaning back on the walls lazily viewing the general details of the room about them as if wholly unconcerned by any special detail of any of the available artifacts. The pull wagon was a kid’s model that had been roughly modified into a double decker. Another similar wagon bed supported by welded straps holding it a foot higher over the wagon’s original. The lower one was filled with various random food items that looked like they had been hastily picked off a grocery store’s shelf. The newcomer asked the woman if that was her wagon as she seemed so particularly interested in it. She looked back up at him and dreamily replied, “Yeah and it’s going to be delivered to my house soon after it is transferred to another wagon and that is why I am sitting here waiting!” At that point the young man spied two others in the far corner alone much further down than the group. One of them stood nonchalantly with his pants hiked down to his knees as he smiled. Another with his back to everyone else on his knees. His head swiveling up and down performing the act of fellatio. The impulse of the young man to approach this scene to explicitly witness more died. The novelty of the actuality of this type of occurrence daringly performed in public view with such abandon had quickly worn off. He turned back toward the exit thinking better of his excursion for that day.
The perennial stark guest of fictional personages that emulate people that were actually once alive. A giant of a man extremely powerful and impossibly large. Almost up to the limit of what people in general think is humanly possible. Someone with a temper but also intense pride. An another who was his rival. The two were always on the edge of fighting making nearby bystanders very wary of getting caught around them lest they get injured or worse in the heat of the former’s capacity for unchecked rage. People that he encountered generally played verbal softball with him so as not to inadvertently anger him. Quite frankly, the less they said the better chance for personal survival the would possess. But inevitably, peaked by this rival the contest would start soon on the basis of the bad blood accumulating between them. He would tear up the furniture and threaten others with mortal harm for the most minor infraction of his pride. Some fully aware of the consequence of such a meeting some neighbors had already evacuated the area going into hiding fearing the continuation of wrath that might ensue if he won the battle. Though no one would voice it out loud the smaller less powerful looking David vanquished the mean spirited Goliath making everyone who was still physically weaker to keep their joy to themselves. The nervous exhaustion of such an all out showdown had left him incapacitated which eliminated this possibility from occurring. So beaten down was the giant that some couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of empathy for the totality of his total defeat. His spirit had been permanently crushed by losing the title of the meanest and strongest bully around.
The final confrontation had been held in the yard of the house nest door. The owner had sent his wife to her mother and was going to sequester himself in his basement having turned off the lights and locked all the doors of his abode. The fight kicked off before he could get from his garage to the back door and he had to hide behind an overturned metal lounge chair. He knew that if the giant got a cross the fence that he would be toast. He might have been able to reach his own door but was stopped by a strange compulsion that told him it wouldn’t be right to abandon his neighbor if things would go against him. As mentioned, the severe beating that had been doled out had left the former bully with a degree of silent reserve that he had never before exhibited in the past. The man even demonstrating a degree of unaccustomed humility to the local neighborhood royalty, such as it was, in his midst. A displaced countess enjoying the pleasure of being the first. The giant seem to settle for the personality of a gracious loser quite opposite to that of his former self. Being very vocally apologetic for the violent deeds resulting from his past anger he soon became part of the group. Everyone glad that they no longer had to fear seeing anymore examples of spontaneous mayhem. Equally glad that the few having previously demonstrated mixed loyalties would not be hunted down and treated like a traitor.
He was in heavily occupied enemy territory in some place within South East Asia. Japanese soldiers were everywhere. The presence of the group scouting them was on the verge of being discovered by a garrison of the same traveling on sampan river boats. The few native militia members with the small contingent of British was barely adequate. Too often these ‘militias’ were neutral. Their loyalties bound to shift with to stronger of the two invaders. The native boys that we had were told to play dumb and stay away from any direct contact. But to no avail as the the Japs treated those that they encountered like escapees from the colonial rule and encouraged them to defect with gifts to find out what they could.
Someone had driven a school bus onto an ice rink and was attempting to perform tight circles causing the bus to start to slip around. The absurdity of this situation being that this very same event was taking place in deepest darkest Africa.
The old Jewish guy who owned the big warehouse had it filled top to bottom with aisle after aisle of junk. Stuff that had been picked up on the road or traded for in bulk. Too much of it appeared by virtue of its dilapidated condition that it wouldn’t travel much further than the scrapyard. Rows and rows of it piled high to the ceiling. Somehow the many had been conscripted along with a few other unfortunates to work for him. The man had a terrible temper and a bad habit of riding everyone without stopping. God knows, you didn’t dare cross him. The look of his constant beady eyed scowl telegraphing the message that you couldn’t tell what he was capable of in terms of unexpectedly pulling out a gun and shooting you. Not to mention that he was tied up with the wrong crowd. The sort that too often literally got away with murder. At least that was the backstory. The young guy made sure to butter him up as best as was possible to try to escape some small measure of verbal abuse. The guy playing a little game with him diverting his wrath by keeping him talking about trivial business matters. At the end of the day when the boss wanted to dive the man and another companion somewhere last minute at quitting time his battleaxe wife showed up. The old harpy was worse than he was with a shrill voice that over a short period of time could drive anyone insane. The companion talked to his fellow worker quipping, “Oh great, the old bastard is going to get all pissed off now and take it out on us!” “The shit will definitely hit the fan!”, the other man replied.
A little while later the two assistants were alone in the bosses’ automobile on a mission to get gas for the old S.O.B. One of them attempting to park out of the way of a gas station’s car wash exit. His partner getting out to use the restroom. The partner returned and standing on the far side beyond the rear view mirrors of it giving bum instructions. The other one attempting to park had to half back it out slowly to pull further over in order to get the car’s rear end out of the way from blocking exiting vehicles. The ‘traffic cop’ friend kept attempting to direct the driver while getting in the way preventing any positive progress. Two other guys from the station walked over and to the would be traffic cop companion and gave him a stern lecture. “Look!“, one of them spat out, “You got to let this guy back out of the other lane and let him proceed the fuck out of here!” Having been given the opportunity to finally pull aside without interference from his friend the exhausted driver went to the Car Wash’s men’s room. He was aghast when he opened the stall door to find the commode covered in shit. The man grabbed some paper towels from a dispenser to try to clean it off the best he could without choking from being sickened. “It’s no fun being a slave to someone else’s bad behavior!“, he said aloud, “But that is how this f’in life is.“
It started out back in a suburb in Skokie. A man walking out the front door of his family home who had now become used to occasionally seeing the old generation of his neighbors being slowly replaced by a whole new generation moving in. A strange looking guy was outside and while he didn’t at first appear to be menacing. The guy approached me and asked in an offbeat way the single question of, “Where can I find a used car?” This being a time long before the Internet had even been thought of, the home owner responded by saying that the querent might consider traveling back into the city to Western or Ashland Avenues as he would be likely to find a number of used car lots run by the many car dealerships located there. The stranger stared back at the man inertly as if completely unmoved by his response like a block of stone. “There were always the classifieds in the newspaper!“, the speaker retorted to the continued silence. The now silent stranger becoming ever more creepy after the short one-sided discussion. The homeowner then continuing swiftly on his way keeping a wayward eye at the stranger. The weather about him now completely transformed into a sort of overall darkness of a typed that one would expect from an impending thunderstorm.
The next stop was an ad agency that was housed within a massive old warehouse near the city center. The man had arrived there to deliver some large art boards, that from their general appearance, suggested that they were to be used for planning some sort of film or photo shoot. The messenger was sent past the reception desk with a simple wave of the hand and wandered back on his own through a maze of vacant sections and empty spaces where the only ample evidence of photo past shoots was a layout or two haphazardly pinned to a wall. Young men and women occasionally appeared. Each walking back and forth completely self-possessed through the abandoned chaos of walls splattered paint. Occasional piles of debris hastily swept over to the side and then forgotten. One smarmy youth walking up to snatch the art board from the messenger’s grasp only uttering an offhanded command to wait. The man stood there out of the way quietly marveling to himself at the sheer amount of surrounding destruction. A diffident young woman speaking to an unseen companion startled him by breaking unexpectedly into his thoughts. She rattled on in her monotonous nasal tone conversing about the previous night’s events. Breaking away from these trivialities for an instant to question the waiting man and then just as abruptly walked past as if he was simply like a stick of furniture or any other inert object. The man continued to stand there completely immobile for many minutes wondering just what he was supposed to wait for. But no answer seeming imminent. Gradually becoming restless and caught up by boredom, he wandered slowly forward following his curiosity into each room after room. Each space more ravaged, torn down and torn apart. The next locale even more incomplete than the last one encountered a space or two back. No evidence of equipment! Nothing to suggest anyone was doing any useful beyond the languor of casually dressed teenagers lazily milling past. The messenger began to wonder if he wasn’t like some sort of ghost caught up in a dream?
Minutes long ago having past into what seemed like hours he felt sleepy. At one point finding a portion of the floor swept clean enough to sink down upon and lean against a less devastated portion by a wall. He soon closed his eyes. The longer he waited, the fewer people passed by him. He began to realize that his presence had most likely been completely forgotten. Then in turn pondering how soon closing time for this operation might be? The voices of a group passing somewhat close to him but out of sight talking about the installation of a unique accessory to the building. Something that allowed those few with ‘huervos‘ enough to attempt it to slide down within its series of large twisting pipes quickly to the street below. The messenger aware that his wanderings through this place might lead to him being so lost as to being unable to find the front door before it would be locked for the night. He hurriedly got back on his feet. It was obvious that there was no purpose to be served by staying there any longer. By this point there were no more voices encountered as he hurriedly made his way back towards where he hoped to find an exit. Wondering about how he was unlikely to ever get paid for the delivery. All of this was just crazy! In the back of his mind a fear arose. Would I have to seek out this terrible tubular chute as my only means of escape if all the doors were now locked? Eventually a doorway with a glowing exit sign appeared in the dimness. He put his shoulder against the door and it opened to a stairwell within. The hurried sound of his own footfalls echoing in the empty column as he hoped that he would end up at an exist to the street. Along sections of the outside walls of each a landing he noticed the intercession of sections of what appeared to be a gigantic plumbing pipe. This being the mythical device within which those with exceptional daring do might test their manhood. He shook his head as he speculated how long a journey this convoluted path would provide when fully stretched out? Maybe amounting to hundreds of feet in length. What sort of terrifying experience might it be to jump feet first into its darkness to brave so many bone jarring twists and turns? However harrying that might be was now a matter of useless speculation. For someone of his age group some several decades past the elasticity of youth it might occasion a heart attack leaving him to die crammed into a tight crook of this snake-like tube. The doors at the bottom of the stairwell now in sight he broke into the alley. Traversing the parking lot he looked back over his shoulder to see the gigantic carnival colored twisting python structure across the building’s entire side. He was struck with the thought that the entire place ws little more than a fun house for Millennials rather than a place of real business.
An experiment was ongoing kept hush, hush within a nearby glade of the forest. One that involved participants from each sex, a conventional man and a woman, one might guess? The general impression of the purpose of this event being to see how to manipulate each of them in some unique way with an energy field. The result of this manipulation being very extreme and causing a sort of initial memory loss in one of the partners. Odd considering that only one of the two would ultimately be present for view after the completion of each round of experimentation? The inference gleaned from the initial rambling whispered impressions of some that had survived the ordeal suggesting that the bodies of one or the other were remotely motivated in a very unorthodox way. The minds of each participant going totally blank within an hour or two then descending into a state of total amnesia. Thus no one either male of female would ever be aware if they had been brutalized or in any other manner handled roughly up to the point of rape. The details of these experiments remaining safe in the hands of their experimenters. The cumulative results of this program became so heinous in nature that the tales surfaced that the surrounding forest had come alive and then as if in a human state of consciousness and taken those handlers immediately in control of the victims to task by tearing them limb from limb. A coverup quickly ensued producing in its wake the urban legend of this vengeful destruction so that anyone who had heard about it would never be found near to the site again. Warning enough that was enough for all living in the general vicinity to abide from that point forth. The sponsorship of this abomination by the government never spoken of again.
Since assuming the position of Roman Legate and sometime involved in hardball politics his new wife demanded that what had started out as an vent would be turned into a window. Assuming of course, it was a window to escape through.
DEPOSITION ONE: I was in a death struggle with another person. A black came at me and overpowered me. But I didn’t give up so easily. Even though my assailant was more powerful than me. He had initially incapacitated me at first and then came back for a second round. But this time I overpowered him. It turned out that the hostess, my benefactor had known him. You might have said that I was almost married to her. In fact that struggle had occurred between myself and the corpse when I had been sent down to take care of the garbage. So, I packed him up and was preparing to throw him away. In fact, she came down earlier that day and had a tete e tete and thought that she had killed him. But in any case, he was tucked away somewhere. Not too far away in the garbage soon to be burned. For some reason a conversation started at the party held later. And some policemen were invited on a formal basis. The conversation started out primarily on an academic level about a murder. Little by little they drafted a theory of how my wife was guilty and had proved it at least in terms of conversation. So inspiring was the conversation that I thought they might look in the dumpster. And though I knew that I was theoretically safe from prosecution I began to worry about her because of nothing else they might find the circumstantial evidence at the bottom of that one pit by the burner.
DEPOSITION TWO: The black demon had been in the habit of tyrannizing me. Threatening to rob my house and do anything that he cared to, to me. Finally, one day, he tried to get in a struggle with me. Initially, he was too powerful to overcome. And though I tried my best at that point I couldn’t seem to get near to overcoming him. In fact, I felt like I should give up and just let the inevitable occur. But on a successive attempt I managed to get the better of him. First imprisoning him. And later coming back to mercilessly do away with him. So now I was faced with the acquisition of a corpse to dispose of. Something that in some ways was the easiest thing in the world. And in other ways was prone to discovery. The solution was not unlike many others was to dispose of him in the garbage. Someplace, given his behavior in life, he so richly deserved. Fortunately as with all murders, at least in the theatrical sense, he was bound to be discovered. Though I had to be careful to pack his body in such a way that it would not be immediately discovered. A conversation began with a third party completely unrelated to this event. Little by little, to my shock and horror, it didn’t indict me so much as someone else that I knew. Someone, a woman of all things that would be blamed inadvertently. It turned away some other things that would be damning. That were at least in her view, damning. Women being, sometimes depending on the level of how sheltered they’d been. too prone to confess. Inadvertently, she had disposed of her ‘infidelity‘ in the same place that I had disposed of the corpse. And now little by little, the hounds were sniffing the ground getting closer. It was only a matter of time I thought until they would go down the the basement and find the truth. But would their truth match the actual events to send up somebody innocent as opposed to guilty?
DEPOSITION THREE: I myself had been engaged in a death struggle with my assailant when the police arrived at the front door. Not knowing any better my ‘friend’ had increased what had started out as a losing battle but turned quickly to my favor. I had to not only consider deposing of my opponent but disposing of any evidence of him as well. And with my heart pounding furiously I did the first and then the latter. Trying hard to do something as clearly as possible. To bury him in rubbish and go back up to the assembly of guests and act as nonchalantly as possible.
Much to my shock, as I lay alone in my big king sized bed contemplating my beginning and my after. So many weeks as long as I could remember I could only sleep on a two hour cycle. Awakening and then going back to sleep and then awakening each time again in a matter of only two hours. It was only then that after making peace and declaring my belief in a higher power and a power over me that I realized that the woman in question was within me. And the struggle had always been within me. And now as everyone, I suppose, who was close to death and surprised and shocked that they are the very one who is soon to depart. And sit back and wonder when the death blow will come. Given the evidence, fairly soon. But perhaps, in some ways not soon enough. Or too soon given the enigma of being alive.
The dilemma of riding along with the public conception of your worth by virtue of a youthful demeanor with an unmet challenge of rising above it.
Conviction seems a self-reinforcement of one’s own particular reality.
Life is like a train, people get on, and then suddenly without warning, they get off.
Anger is self-defeating in that it takes away some of one’s own power to be able to fully access it.
The world of the mind is being abandoned to a stark reality of constant conformity.
Is one’s experience of a memory revisited from their past contingent upon present tense viewpoints, or communicated solely in terms of what was once one’s former viewpoints from that same time long ago in the past?
Are one’s current desires in present tense guided by those ones that were never resolved in that past?
Society always focuses itself more upon an initiator of something different as opposed to all the rest of the proles that go along.
In the nineteenth century the voice was important. In the twentieth century the picture was most important. In the twenty-first century staying within the boundaries of socially implanted singular beliefs about one’s self have become far more important than the rest.
The progress of one’s life may directly correlate to the condition of their shoes in showing the patterns of wear that their soles have fallen prey to.
The definition of enjoyment generally being able to exercise one’s will without external interference or fear of subsequent consequence.
True enjoyment may be found in total animal oblivion.
Ingrained habits kill one’s ability to fully experience of the world.
Is one’s legitimacy of one’s generation right to fully participate in this present era based upon their willingness to surrender all their own previous notions to the ones from this current generation?
The absurdity of institutionally instilling the concept of race and social inequity into the most recent generations so as to hope to totally eliminate it in the future.
Hot and wet the burden of the morning was still upon his shoulders like a steamy rain coat. The summer afternoon was in the process of outdoing itself cooking everyone to a fricassee. His sense of palpable reality had barely readjusted itself since he had arrived back into the dank coolness of his own apartment. A hot shower, a couple bottles of cold mineral water and closing his eyes upon the living room lounge floor had somewhat revived him to a usable state. The reason to be had been leached out of him during the several mile hike along the city’s lakefront. Ninety-two degrees felt more like a sweltering hundred and twenty. The city’s foremost fountain over spilling mist from it seventy foot column of water that couldn’t have been more timely discovery. Would that so many other thoughts and recollections from the near recent past might have been alleviated in so simple a manner. One’s obstacles like one’s life never go away. Not until they are knocked over or simply driven the long way around. The chill of the air was beginning to take hold.
The disparity between the morning and his recent awakening made him edgy. Life today was a walk through a cemetery counting the names of those that had once been alive. Except in his case he could recite more than the last date of their demise. He didn’t look so nice as he had once did. Fat and pouring sweat bathing in his own uncomfortable natural stewing about the past when he should been attempting to live out the present with as much positive energy as anyone without the benefit of more than a decade or so left. Why did his memories have to be so grim and unsupportive of any possibility of happiness? The present as he now knew it had degenerated into a waiting game. A self-engendered mental trap that had him saying goodbye to life far before the tickets for departure had arrived. A convenient way of not having to go through the endless repetition of having to be reminded himself that his life had descended into the status of a random pile of unkempt memories. The haphazard collections of the same tossed about in an irreconcilable state of perpetual chaos. A solitary Cavatina of his soul long ago emptied of joy now filled only by the gathering dust.
He thought of his childhood. And all the times he was taken reluctantly along to his father’s mother’s house to find her over a hot stove sweating into an old aluminum pot of boiling potatoes. Dressed in a pink slip with a safety pin holding together a broken strap a cigarette dangling from wryness of her thin lips. The ignoble sight of same exactly as he had seen her do so on every occasion. Of how he had grown to hate her for doing so. Her perpetual celebration of poverty. And the bitter mean spiritedness about her embodied to this day in a persistent picture stuck within his own mind. She had cheated him and beaten him on occasion as she had his father as a boy. So much so that as she lay dying in the hospital from cancer some years later, he would not offer solace to the troubled musings of loss in his own father’s face. Just merely feigning ignorance over indifference upon a barely concealed thin veil of angry good riddance. Now a half of century later the laments had been birthed in his father’s expression being in a similar corollary to his own. A sense of being orphaned by too many misspent opportunities from now unreachable times past still locked within the depths of his own memories. One’s that reminded him of how his father was so sorely missed now that he had been gone so long. Boiled potatoes.
Taras Bulba. That old movie version where in the end of the film the father reluctantly kills his only son who has ultimately betrayed him by going over to the enemy The insoluble problem of later life not whether one should forgive their own father so much as whether he could ever forgive his son. Happy Father’s Day.