Lincoln in the Bardo

by George Saunders

“The Truth About Mrs. Lincoln,” by Laura Searing (writing as Howard Glyndon).

Mary Lincoln’s mental health had never been good, and the loss of young Willie ended her life as a functional wife and mother. In “A Mother’s Trial: Mary Lincoln and the Civil War,” by Jayne Coster.

So many wills, memories, complaints, desires, so much raw life-force.

DEATH FORCE

As I had many times preached, our Lord is a fearsome Lord, and mysterious, and will not be predicted, but judges as He sees fit, and we are but as lambs to Him, whom He regards with neither affection nor malice; some go to the slaughter, while others are released to the meadow, by His whim, according to a standard we are too lowly to discern. It is only for us to accept; accept His judgment, and our punishment.

What the fck is the point of religion then

His mind was freshly inclined toward sorrow; toward the fact that the world was full of sorrow; that everyone labored under some burden of sorrow; that all were suffering; that whatever way one took in this world, one must try to remember that all were suffering (none content; all wronged, neglected, overlooked, misunderstood), and therefore one must do what one could to lighten the load of those with whom one came into contact; that his current state of sorrow was not uniquely his, not at all, but, rather, its like had been felt, would yet be felt, by scores of others, in all times, in every time, and must not be prolonged or exaggerated, because, in this state, he could be of no help to anyone and, given that his position in the world situated him to be either of great help or great harm, it would not do to stay low, if he could help it.

Kill them and deny them their livelihood and force them back into the fold. hans vollman He must (we must, we felt) do all we could, in light of the many soldiers lying dead and wounded, in open fields, all across the land, weeds violating their torsos, eyeballs pecked out or dissolving, lips hideously retracted, rain-soaked/blood-soaked/snow-crusted letters scattered about them, to ensure that we did not, as we trod that difficult path we were now well upon, blunder, blunder further (we had blundered so badly already) and, in so blundering, ruin more, more of these boys, each of whom was once dear to someone. Ruinmore, ruinmore, we felt, must endeavor not to ruinmore. Our grief must be defeated; it must not become our master, and make us ineffective, and put us even deeper into the ditch. roger bevins iii We must, to do the maximum good, bring the thing to its swiftest halt and— hans vollman Kill. roger bevins iii Kill more efficiently. hans vollman Hold nothing back. roger bevins iii Make the blood flow. hans vollman Bleed and bleed the enemy until his good sense be reborn.

Netanyahu, that you?