Fictional Guilt

Posted: March 16, 2015 in Uncategorized

How neatly everything ties up for the Hollywood man. As I consider it, I imagine that the truly deranged man, the one capable of taking life after life and then dressing in business clothes and going on with one’s life as the police swarm like hornets around the scenes of your deeds lacks repentance. He gains nothing from admission. He may take some degree of smug satisfaction at listening to the buzz of the bugs, to impossibly perceive the sunlight glinting off their mandibles and stingers as they get so close only to crawl and fly away again, but what is there for him to end his game at the stage of the Globe, with a tired and rambling soliloquy, spoken to the audience but loud enough for the other players to hear? Is it really just the fugitive’s exhaustion that causes one to give up? Or a genuine mistake, an oversight of the smallest order when one has been spinning 40 players on sticks for a considerable fraction of a century? How neatly, indeed, and how bizarre an interpretation of the word justice.

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