Memoirs of an Old Man

Bennie 2022-03-23 09:02:34

The young Jack drove his girlfriend home to meet his parents, while the girlfriend on the side kept repeating a thought (wanting to end everything with Jack). It was snowing on the way, quiet, desolate, and heartbreaking. On the way, Jack also showed his love for music, literature, drama, film and art.

When he got home, Jack did not rush up to the farm when he arrived at the door of the house. He wanted to try to escape. He saw the remains of the fat pig that was eaten alive by maggots, and his true state was reflected in the back (poor , useless, helpless). He took his girlfriend to see his parents. They were weird and inappropriate. Jack was very tormented in front of them, but he also wanted to express his love for his parents who were in love with him, so Jack took care of the sick. The pictures of his mother, helping his elderly father, and the love story on TV also reflect Jack's desire for love. At the same time, the girlfriend gradually entered the basement, and the secret also emerged. Those beautiful paintings, stacks of books, certificates of merit, proved that Jack was a well-educated man, and then took out another one in the washing machine. Pieces of cleaner tooling, the contrast can be imagined, in reality Jack is a lonely cleaner.

On the way to send his girlfriend home, Jack led his girlfriend to his favorite ice cream shop. There were many female salespersons here. He didn't dare to go forward and only asked his girlfriend to buy it back. Later conversations could tell that Jack and these girls There had been a lot of friction, Jack took her away, humming the ice cream advertisement on the road, expressing his love for sweets, but after taking a bite, suddenly there is no comfort brought by sweets, and I don’t even want to eat the first time. After two mouthfuls, he became anxious in his heart, as if the beauty was about to leave him. He ignored his girlfriend's advice and took her directly to that high school, where Jack disappeared. His girlfriend couldn't leave, so he got out of the car and entered the school to look for it. The trash cans of the school were full of ice cream paper cups. He came to the bright and bright teaching building. Everything was so beautiful, bright and full of hope. Even Jack has changed from a bloated old man to a handsome guy, dancing with the girlfriend in front of him, it is full of love, old Jack wants to have these beautiful things, picks up a broken knife and kills The handsome guy died, but so what, he was still a wretched, useless cleaner who only peeked at schoolgirls.

Later, he was naked, like a pig covered with maggots, and slowly walked to the bright, hopeful place, he succeeded, standing on the Nobel podium, singing loudly about his love, love Sexual desire! It's all just a struggle before death, both futile and sad.

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I'm Thinking of Ending Things quotes

  • Young Woman: [about his onset dementia] I'm sorry that y-you're...

    Father: That's okay. Truth is, I'm looking forward to when it gets very bad and I don't have to remember that I can't remember!

  • Young Woman: Coming home is terrible whether the dogs lick your face or not; whether you have a wife or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you. Coming home is terribly lonely, so that you think of the oppressive barometric pressure back where you have just come from with fondness, because everything's worse once you're home. You think of the vermin clinging to the grass stalks, long hours on the road, roadside assistance and ice creams, and the peculiar shapes of certain clouds and silences with longing because you did not want to return. Coming home is just awful. And the home-style silences and clouds contribute to nothing but the general malaise. Clouds, such as they are, are in fact suspect, and made from a different material than those you left behind. You yourself were cut from a different cloudy cloth, returned, remaindered, ill-met by moonlight, unhappy to be back, slack in all the wrong spots, seamy suit of clothes dishrag-ratty, worn. You return home moon-landed, foreign; the Earth's gravitational pull an effort now redoubled, dragging your shoelaces loose and your shoulders etching deeper the stanza of worry on your forehead. You return home deepened, a parched well linked to tomorrow by a frail strand of... Anyway... You sigh into the onslaught of identical days. One might as well, at a time... Well... Anyway... You're back. The sun goes up and down like a tired whore, the weather immobile like a broken limb while you just keep getting older. Nothing moves but the shifting tides of salt in your body. Your vision blears. You carry your weather with you, the big blue whale, a skeletal darkness. You come back with X-ray vision. Your eyes have become a hunger. You come home with your mutant gifts to a house of bone. Everything you see now, all of it: bone.