Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said

by Philip K. Dick

Some irrational will within him made him want to appear, to be visible, to be known. All right, Jason Taverner, Buckman thought, you are known, again, as you were once before, but better known now, known in a new way. In a way that serves higher ends—ends you know nothing about, but must accept without understanding. As you go to your grave your mouth will be still open, asking the question, “What did I do?” You will be buried that way: with your mouth still open.

A man, he thought, cries not for the future or the past but for the present.