For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins

Or again, in 2012, albeit INTERNALLY – a doubling,
tripling; multiplying of this, perhaps diminished each time.
Or again, in 2460, by a seated individual, exhausted.
Or a precedent set; a stylistic paradigm; a rule base; a
perimeter carved out of the flagstone; a minimum SENTENCE;
a maximum sentence of life.
Or I admit that I cannot conscionably say that it is
beyond reasonable doubt. My thinking of and about guilt, sir.
No, sir. I cannot say that. I will not say that. What I will say,
however, is that some part of me is guilty. Some part. Which
part, sir, I cannot say; but some part of me – physical, mental,
spiritual – is riven with guilt. I can feel it, sir. Where specifically,
sir, I could not tell you. But I feel it, sir: a kernel of guilt. A
steel ball bearing of guilt. Absolutely insoluble guilt, sir. I know
that I did it.
Spoken sincerely (sworn to truth with the left hand
resting on a book and the right on where one imagines the
heart to be), from somewhere in Tarzana. Where she lived.
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