Jonathan Carroll's Blog, page 10

Hellagram

Some enterprising entrepreneur has created a website where for a price, you can give a message to someone who is dying to take with them to the other side to give to the dead person of your choice when they arrive there. When I saw the site (after my initial astonishment), I thought who would I send a message to over there if I could? My parents? That old university friend who died in a car crash freshman year? And what is there to say? I’ve watched television shows (and you have too, admit i...

Bad Kintsugi

“She was like bad kintsugi: a badly damaged bowl, but instead of self-repair with gold or some other precious material, she chose to fill the cracks in her life with lies, conscious cruelty, and of course me, me, never-ending me.’

Bad Kintsugi was originally published in Jonathan Carroll on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Heart Breakers and Makers

Someone told me the other day about their first love who by the sound of it, was easily a candidate for the girlfriend from hell. He laughed about it all these years later, but it didn’t sound like he was laughing back when he was in the midst of her fire and brimstone awfulness. On the other hand, someone else told me a while ago about her wonderful first boyfriend and how in many ways, he spoiled her for the other men who came later in her life. He was her gold standard and no one else ever...

New Pictures on Old Skin

“I read an interesting article in the newspaper the other day. A man in Florida died. In his will, he asked that they tattoo a redwood forest across his torso before he was buried. Apparently it was a copy of a picture of the only place he had ever been happy in his life. He said no matter what happens after death, he wanted to take that place with him. But his wife was Muslim and tattoos are generally forbidden for them because it’s considered mutilating the body, changing Allah’s creation.”...

VEDRAN

(excerpt from BATHING THE LION)

“He’s no filet mignon; he’s not even steak. He’s chuck roast, maybe. London Broil at best.”

This is how it began for Edmonds. It was the first thing he’d heard that morning after he sat down in the blue chair and looking out the window, asked himself what the hell am I doing here? But he knew the answer to that question: it was either get on the bus, or go home and kill himself. The choice was that stark and simple.

The big yellow and white bus sat parked at the c...

The Stolen Church

Tina and Stanley Wykoff stood waiting for the elevator to arrive. Both of them were nervous. Both were dressed nicely but still kept checking each other constantly to make sure nothing was wrong — no zipper open, no button undone, no unruly hair sticking out in the wrong direction.

She looked at her hemline and wondered for the sixth time if her dress wasn’t too short. She’d asked Stan twice and he said no, but still… Hands in his pockets, he fussed again that maybe he should have worn his dar...

Let the Past Begin

Eamon Reilly was handsome and sloppy. He seemed to know everyone, even waitresses in restaurants. When he walked in the door, they beamed and began seriously flirting the minute he sat down at their table. I saw this happen several times at different places — restaurants or bars none of us had ever been to before. I asked if he knew these women but he always said no.

Eamon wore his heart on his sleeve and it worked. People cared about him even when he was being impossible, which was pretty oft...

Home on the Rain

I can’t say for sure when it started because he never told me. And I’m not a mind reader. I’m not an exceptionally observant person and am the first to admit it. I like life the way it is. I watch the passing parade uncritically, rather than with a pair of high powered binoculars and a scorecard so that I can identify all the players and details. I don’t care how well or poorly the costumes have been sewn, so long as they look good from afar. If that clown on stilts is having an affair with h...

The Great Walt of China

I think this is a simple story to tell but having known Ettrich, it will probably end up complicated. Sometimes it seemed everything about him was complicated, often for no reason at all.

This happened when he was alive, a long time ago. I knew him when he lived in Europe, when he was a successful man. He had things then, he wore cashmere socks. People spoke well of him; his family was proud. He was at the height of his success then, a couple of years before he got sick.

I wasn’t in Europe long...

A Rain Marriage

photo by Elfriede Stegemayer

Every Sunday in the New York Times there’s a section I enjoy reading entitled “Weddings and Celebrations.” It chronicles not only the details of different couples’ wedding ceremonies, but how they met and courted. If you’re depressed and think life offers only bad luck, bad breaks or bad timing; that there is no magic around anywhere, then read a few of these columns and some hope will return.

My favorite story was from some years ago: A man was riding in a cab thro...