This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies
From Lady Lazaurus, Sylvia Plath

thinking about this, while driving thru malls and parking lots, burger kings and taco bells, pointing out to mikhael the value drug mart i bought the codeine and the liqour barn i bought the booze and the sobeys where i took the pills, and thinking, how much of this personae of madness is required, a sort of entertaining side show for others, caught not hating myself, but as an entertainment. people come to visit, present me with gifts, they fly out, and they drive across the city, visiting me in the ward, in bed, and i wonder how much of that is having to prove people love me, a narcissitic story made for ready audiences (the aesthete defense for rachel and ray; the jesus offense for mik and john)...i keep thinking about the imaginary invalid by moliere, im not rich of course, solidly middle class, tending to poor, but the doctors, the system, convive to convince that the sadness, the low grade ennui, the meloncholy is a offense that can only be cured by faking or feigning death...

did i really want to kill myself or was i just trying to find toinette (even the name...toinette, antoinette, anthony) (did michel write on the ii, it seems his play)

(or maybe it is the opposite, in the sense that i want none of it, that people should not think of myself as valuable, that it would be better if i was well or its equivlents, because the show is tedius, and kind of tawdry, the strip tease is ghastly, and im just exhausted)