In the Deadlands Read Online Free PDF Page B

things.”
    I rubbed at my eye. I had an uneasy queasy feeling that great cracks were opening in the ceiling.
    â€œAnyone can get up and speak for his cause—any group can believe in anything they choose—indeed we can remake the world if we want too! And in our own images!”
    Things were teetering right and left—also write and wrong.
    â€œBut the truly great thing about it,” he continued, “is that no matter how much we contradict each other, we are all working together for the common good! Our great democratic system lets us maximize our differences so that we can all compromise ourselves. Only by suggesting all the alternatives to a problem can we select the best possible solution. In the long run, this ultimate freedom and individuality will help all of us to achieve the most good for the most people!”
    It sounded good to me.
    When I got home, the workmen were just finishing with the wallpaper. It was amazing how solid the surface looked once all the cracks and flaws in it had been covered with a gaudy, flowered facade.
    I could no longer tell where the plaster had given way—and the bare surface of the understructure had disappeared into the fog. Indeed, the only thing was that the ceiling seemed to be much lower than before.
    I paused long enough to stroke the cat. He waved as I came in. “Hey, man,” said the cat. “Give me a J.”
    â€œI can’t. I’m having trouble with my I.”
    â€œWell, then give me a dollar.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œFor a trip,” he said.
    â€œOh.” I gave him a dollar, waited for the trip.
    He dropped the bill into his mouth, lit it, picked up his suitcase and quickly rose to a cruising level of thirty thousand feet. Then he headed west. I did not quite understand this. The fog had gotten much worse, and the—controllers were not letting any traffic through. There had been something I had wanted to ask, but I had forgotten it. Oh, well—it couldn’t have been very important. But I wish I could figure out—
    The man on the TV was a Doctor. He sat on top of it with his feet dangling in front of the screen (his cleats were scratching the image) and said that the drugs were destroying the realities. Drugs could destroy a person’s sanity by altering his perceptions of the world until he could no longer perceive reality at all.
    â€œJust so long as it doesn’t change what he believes in,” I muttered and turned him off. Then I turned him out. It was getting late and I wanted to get some sleep. However, I did make a mental note not to have my prescription refilled. Already the wallpaper was peeling.
    In fact, by now, only the framework of the structure is left, and it looks like it’s made out of chocolate pudding. Maybe it is. Perhaps it is the drugs. Maybe they are altering our collective fogments—but I haven’t noticed anything.
    AFTERWORD:
    In 1984, Cornell University Press published The Incredulous Reader: Literature and The Function of Disbelief by Clayton Koelb , a noteworthy professor of English and Comparative Literature.
    According to the jacket copy, “In The Incredulous Reader, Clayton Koelb identifies and explores a significant and hitherto unrecognized literary genre. The genre, which Koelb calls ‘lethetic fiction,’ consists of works that tell an incredible story—a story that stubbornly resists conventional interpretation and is meant to be taken as neither truth nor allegory.”
    Part One of the book is about “Disbelief And Untruth.” It consists of three chapters. Chapter Three is entitled, “The Imitation of Language: Logomimesis in David Gerrold and Thomas Mann.”
    If I read his essay correctly, “logomimesis” means language imitating itself. He then takes eight pages to explore “With a Finger in My I” as an example. I haven’t counted the words, but it looks to me that he used more words to