The seeds of doubt planted in the boy long ago, nurtured in near perfect conditions, have exploded into jungle. If there's a straight path in here, it's too bloody narrow for his eye to discern.
What you feed grows stronger. The story of the black dog and the white dog. Of the same litter, they are inseparable, but you - their master - can choose which gets the most food.
Please forgive the unconscious racism. It's meant to be a parable about darkness and light. Evil and Good. It doesn't really matter what color the dogs are.
What's important is that we all have both of them living in our guts. But with your help and careful feeding, one can prevail over the other. The struggle occurs every day however. Minute by minute.
This story makes sense to the boy. He feels its truth in his body. He also wishes the dogs would shut up once in awhile.
A boy learns early through feedback, freely given by burned-out alcoholic teachers, that he lacks self-control. Sometimes that plays funny, what a character, and sometimes not so funny, like maybe a psychological evaluation is in order.
He is dreaming again that the Russians invade and take them all prisoner. The principal is immediately shot, the teachers offer no resistance, the kids scream and cry herded into the cafeteria by heavily armed soldiers, while the wily boy - the half wild boy - evades capture hiding in an air duct. Anyway, it goes on and on, but he burns for a girl who thinks he's strange, and he is going to save her or die trying. The boy often dreams this way.
In third grade, nearly suffocated, he hears this on the school bus AM radio and relinquishes the little self-control he does possess with relish.
Later he would come to understand this sensation as rocking out, a truly sacred state of consciousness.
What you feed grows stronger. The story of the black dog and the white dog. Of the same litter, they are inseparable, but you - their master - can choose which gets the most food.
Please forgive the unconscious racism. It's meant to be a parable about darkness and light. Evil and Good. It doesn't really matter what color the dogs are.
What's important is that we all have both of them living in our guts. But with your help and careful feeding, one can prevail over the other. The struggle occurs every day however. Minute by minute.
This story makes sense to the boy. He feels its truth in his body. He also wishes the dogs would shut up once in awhile.
A boy learns early through feedback, freely given by burned-out alcoholic teachers, that he lacks self-control. Sometimes that plays funny, what a character, and sometimes not so funny, like maybe a psychological evaluation is in order.
He is dreaming again that the Russians invade and take them all prisoner. The principal is immediately shot, the teachers offer no resistance, the kids scream and cry herded into the cafeteria by heavily armed soldiers, while the wily boy - the half wild boy - evades capture hiding in an air duct. Anyway, it goes on and on, but he burns for a girl who thinks he's strange, and he is going to save her or die trying. The boy often dreams this way.
In third grade, nearly suffocated, he hears this on the school bus AM radio and relinquishes the little self-control he does possess with relish.
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