Bartle Library, Binghamton University, New York
Isn’t this the floor where I took that Philosophy, Interpretaion and Culture class?
Maybe that is the reason I am in this situation. Too much education about perversion.
If my God – – – or any God – – – is listening – – – then listen good. Maybe it didn’t make any difference about what I did in my youth. Maybe it doesn’t make any difference what my monthly bill at the Johnson City Liquor store amounts to. Maybe it doesn’t make any difference as to what I learned in “Philosophy, Interpretation and Culture.”
Maybe I would have been in this situation anyway. And all those bad deeds were never carved into the annals of Purgatory. So all those good deeds, donations and kind acts weren’t worth the powder to blow them to Hell either. Maybe Dorian Gray was not such a bad fellow after all. Maybe I wasted my time.
I wanted to write a little more edgy but I was worried about what people would think. What kind of an author was I – – – to worry about what people would think? A piss poor one; that’s what kind. No wonder I will never be in The Bartle. Maybe I should have finished that book on “The Management of Service”; that would have at least got me into the Science Library. Better than nothing I suppose.
Did Jesus commit suicide? If he was God and he didn’t save himself that sounds like suicide to me. So my bad acts didn’t even come close to suicide. So why am I in this situation? Will I come back to life? My question to my mother about “who was I before I was me” is starting to sound like a pretty good question.
But what will I be after this box of death hits the bottom of The Bartle? A mushy mess all heaped up in one big pile or a reborn king, or CEO, or dog, or chipmunk, or something that lives under a flat rock?
Oh shit! The fourth floor light just blinked.
TOMORROW: 4th Floor