robotdinosaurswithhumanhearts

I've been reading Jesus' Son again for one reason or another, and when I came across this following paragraph it struck me as being the whole purpose of the collection, as though everything written before it existed just to give this passage its maximum effect, and everything written afterwards is merely a fuller cushion. And not necessarily because it, the passage, is in itself the most brilliant...although maybe it is...but just: this seems to be the whole point of what Johnson was trying to do here, here in these stories, arguably among the best put together in our lifetimes....

But without further ado:

There was a guy with something like multiple sclerosis. A perpetual spasm forced him to perch sideways on his wheelchair and peer down along his nose at his knotted fingers. This condition had descended on him suddenly. His wife was divorcing him. He was only thirty-three, I believe he said, but it was hard to guess what he told about himself because he really couldn't talk anymore, beyond clamping his lips repeatedly around his protuding tongue while groaning.

No more pretending for him! He was completely and openly a mess. Meanwhile the rest of us go on trying to fool each other.

Thank you, Mr. Johnson, I really appreciate it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.