I've Cancer

_ The whip... it's all a matter of how we respond to the whip.

_ I'm going to assume, though I well know the pitfalls of assuming anything, that you are talking to me; and I'm going to further assume, and I have no idea why, nor can I imagine that it will yield anything other than a major cramp in my mind-stuff, that I'm supposed to know what the hell you're talking about.

_ Howsaboy?

_ I'm...

_ I know... It's humanity, Bob... the shared angst of living, if you will.

_ Of course I will. Who am I to won't? Besides, my name's not 'Bob'; corks bob.

_ Strange... Either way, from the last grain of sand to see the light of day before the pyramids fell upon it, to the shine on your too oft worn pants, it's all a matter of how well we respond to the whip.

_ I've cancer.

_ And?

_ And what? Who do you think you are? Some sort of attic cleaner? Don't give me this "And?" business.

_ Like I said, it all comes down to the whip, and how we respond to it... You, for example, are gnawing at the very wall you're chained to. Relax a little; the flesh won't tear so badly.

_ Of course... I'll just relax. Why didn't I think of that?...You've a new hat - a porkpie hat; and you're wearing it at a jaunty angle. Is this any indication of how one is to respond to the whip, as you call it?

_ It's cashmere; the hat is cashmere, handmade in Susquehanna... and you know exactly what I am talking about. The whip... it cracks and flesh tears; screams fill the air... and they are, for the most part, inaudible, like a dog whistle; yet the person screaming hears them loud and clear. Or maybe they don't. Maybe, instead, they just feel the ripping scourge, and the tearing away of that which was... Yes?... No?...

_ Maybe? Is 'maybe' a possibility?

_ I would like to think they hear the screams; I would like to think that if I were to scream I would hear it; I would like to think that if I were to scream the whole world would hear it. I would like to think that if I were to scream the sky would run rivers of blood; and... I would like to think that the entire world would be singularly sanguinary.

_ It's all quite dramatic. Anyway, the hat distracts me... And though I find it quite a distraction, I'll ask anyway: Howsaboy?

_ Fine.

_ Fine? Just fine? Not 'well'?

_ No, I'm not well.... 'Well'?... What is this? An class in proper grammar?... No, I'm not well. I've never been well a day in my life. Fine will have to do.

_ Fine it is; fine as frog hair.

_ 'Well'... What a joke! We've come into this world carrying one thing, and one thing only: the seed of our own destruction. It's what we clasp in our little fucking fist as infants; and, try as they may, nobody can pry it open. No one can pry it open and no one can take it away; it can't be taken because it is essential to us. " Not 'well'?"... No... no... I'm not well.

_ I've cancer.

_ Is there an echo in here?

_ The echoless sound of a duck quacking, searching for her drake...

_ Listen: That things are brought about by a cause is conventional truth; that they neither arise nor cease is ultimate reality. This is the Prajnaparamita Sutra. The next time you tell me that you have cancer I'm going to punch you in the head. Alright?

_ I feel better already, knowing you are there for me.

_ Let other people be 'there'; I'm here; I'm the living, breathing here. I'm the whip! Got it?

_ I do; and the last time I said that, it cost me twenty years of my life.

_ Easy come, easy go... Don't say 'I do' unless you've an open schedule.

_ Right. French roast and a croissant... Whattya think?

_ How about a Spanish omelette and a swift kick in the ass?

_ Sounds about right. Make it two.

_ Two it is.

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... Ever watch the water drain out of the tub you're sitting in and think that your bath wasn't over?

... One must be quick, fluid in living, or be satisfied with a rank substitute for living; and that rank substitute is called 'life'. 'Life' is a lie, born of the lie of birth and ending in the lie of death. 'Living' is true; it harbors no such lies.

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