The Self you have constructed around others is like a cheap paper mask, which others with whom you become intimate never fail to see for what it is. And all the rage which you put into maintaining and elaborating the mask is so much waste: it will still fall apart. It must fall apart. I suggest, instead of waiting for that inevitable moment, that you simply remove it.
I looked up at the band and Bob had a face that Bob sometimes made: half concentrated on his guitar and half drugged Buddhist, smiling only partially successfully—radiant with the certainty that there was only so much beauty you could wring out of so much bullshit;
What happened next is permanently recorded in the annals of Stupid. And Epic. And monks laughing before their next strike—far, far beyond the Two Eternal Gates of Idiot Mountain… Cindy and I carried the pot down to the kitchen as I hatched my scheme.
“Pull off my boots.” I walked toward her and she lifted her left leg high in the air and I pulled off her boot, setting it down on the floor near her drawing table. Her other boot met me as I rose up and I pulled it off and dropped it down to make a pair.
Zen Arcade is a novel about zen, punk rock, and growing up in Minneapolis during the 1980s. We’ll be publishing a section every other Sunday until Summer 2015. This is the twelfth section.
Zen Arcade is a novel about zen, punk rock, and growing up in Minneapolis during the 1980s. We’ll be publishing a section every other Sunday until Summer 2015. This is the eleventh section.