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‘Being carried up and away with my arms spread out like that … It reminded me of the opening to that Fellini movie.’
‘Doing OK?’ My mother came into the room with a box of tissue paper in one hand, removing her make-up. ‘Yeah, you know, I’m fine, thanks.’ I felt awkward, like I didn’t know what to say. I always get that way when I’m talking with my mother.
Hell is keeping a low profile these days, and the whole country is under the spell of this image of Heaven. The difference, though, is that with Hell at least you know what you’re getting. But with Heaven, everything’s ambiguous. There are no actively good feelings, just a passive, ambiguous contentment.’
Is envy always the last emotion standing? (Things like respect and awe are long since gone. Everyone lives in a happy-go-lucky depression – they only take life half-seriously, you might say.)
Even in this day and age, we still revere truth. But at the same time, we devote ourselves to the task of erasing the distinction between truth and fiction.
