Headhunter

She took the steps three at a time to gain the road below. As luck would have it there was a cab waiting at the bottom. Twenty minutes later she was at the Sea-Tac Airport with very few minutes to spare. She was the last passenger to board the final flight to Vancouver that night.

It was only as the DC-9 gained altitude and the water dropped away that she finally began to relax and let the tension unwind.

Oh hell, Spann thought, closing her eyes. Why is it that just when things begin to go right, someone has to spoil it? Now she'd have to watch Scarlett.

Part two WHAT'S UP, DOC?

No, it was not funny; it was rather pathetic; he was so representative of all the past victims of the great Joke. But it is by folly alone that the world moves, and so it is a respectable thing upon the whole. And besides, he was what one could call a good man.

— Joseph Conrad

One Mind's I

Vancouver, British Columbia.

October

Rain. Rain. Rain.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

It feels like a ghost

Come back

To haunt me once again.

Slow days. No gain.

I don't think I'm up to this!

I spent the night in her old chair sitting next to a shuttered window.

Now that my mother's in the ground I really must sell her house. Outside, an October wind in barren trees moaned so mournfully.

I just sat there most of the night, staring at the pictures.

While the pictures lay on her tabletop.

Staring back at me.

OBSESSIONS — It is not uncommon for neurotics to develop a special concern about some danger or problem. If these exaggerated concerns become very intense they are called obsessions. For example it may be necessary for a person to climb out of bed countless times a night to check the gas valves on the stove. Or like Howard Hughes, someone may be so concerned about the slightest contact with dirt that he is compelled to wash his hands constantly or to become a recluse. Neurotic obsessions are thought to conceal some wish that is often either of a destructive or sexual nature. This wish is usually quite obscure in most obsessions and hidden in symbolic distortion.

What do I know about death? Well, let me see.

I know that the true way of defining the end of life is 'as a state where time no longer exists.' Time needs activity by which to measure it, so without activity there can be no time.

I know that the human obsession with death is called thanatophilia. And I know that a person who fears death in an abnormal sense is termed a thanatophobe. If the shoe fits wear it.

Father. Brother. Mother. Son.

Starting over: how many times? Is not will the very core of character? Is the rudder of the ego not a person's will? All the past and all the future, Do they not determine the now?

The course of Life surely depends upon the deftness of the helmsman. So, sail away!

I must remember to pick up my suits from One Hour Martinizing. Also I need more Gillette Atra blades. Is it just my imagination or do they really put the sharp razor blades in the first and last position with duller ones in between?

I dreamt about you last night, Cathy — about the accident. When I awoke I found I had my pillow grasped tightly in my arms.

Again I saw the gravesite, but I couldn't go near the grave. It was raining and all the mourners were standing under black umbrellas. Your mother was crying and I wanted to hold her, but somehow I couldn't join in. I stood at the periphery of the graveyard getting soaking wet. I was the only one present without protection from the rain. God, sometimes I get so lonely. So fucking tired of life.

I felt like that this evening so I spent some time in the sky. You should have seen Jupiter! So magnificent and alive with cloud activity. With a camera-shot through my telescope I caught Saturn at a good angle for the rings. Tomorrow night after shift I think I'll develop and blow up the film. Maybe I'll put a picture up on the bedroom wall. I could use the company.

When you're tired — alone — and afraid of the future, what else can you do? Maybe see a shrink!

Am I having an anxiety attack or is anxiety attacking me? Tonight is Halloween.

I lay the pictures — there are three pictures now! — out on the developing table beside my photo enlarger. I had just finished blowing up the shots taken in the sky. I found my hands were shaking and my body had gooseflesh crawling. It took me more than an hour to overcome the urge. But I did it. Once again I managed to keep my MONSTER! in its cage. Next time I might not be lucky. Next time I might not win.

I fear that next time I might just blow those three pictures up.

God save me from that.

November

Well, I saw Dr. George Ruryk today and this is what he told me.

First of all ask yourself: where do my thoughts come from? We've all heard of complexes. 'Stop treating the child that way, you're going to give him a complex.' 'That man suffers from an inferiority complex.' 'I tell you the guy is weird. He's got some sort of Oedipus complex.' 'She's got this Electra complex. She wants to fuck her father.' So what is a complex?

A complex is a group of ideas that dominate your thoughts and color your experiences. You come to see everything in relation to those ideas. If you're in love, for example, the slightest thing, like just a whiff of perfume, will bring immediately to mind all the ideas and feelings that make up your 'love complex.' A complex is to psychology what Force is to physics. But here comes the rub!

What happens if a particular complex is for some reason totally out of harmony with the rest of the conscious mind? Perhaps its ideas are unbearably painful. Perhaps it is of a sexual nature incompatible with the person's rigid views and principles.

What happens is that a conflict arises — a struggle commences and ensues between the rebel complex in question and the rest of the personality.

Perhaps the complex can be modified by the mind so that it is no longer incompatible with the rest of the personality.

Perhaps the mind can weigh the merits of each opponent and consciously choose to abandon one in favor of the other.