ometimes a man grows tired of carrying everything the
world heaps upon his head. The shoulders sag， the spine bows
cruelly， the muscles tremble with weariness. Hope of relief be-
gins to die. And the man must decide whether to cast off his
h:~ad or endure it until his neck snaps like a brittle twig in au-
[ullnl.
Such was my situation late in my thirty-third year. Al-
though I deserved everything the world had heaped on---and
torments after death far worse than any the world could
threaten: the torture of my skeleton， the rape and dismember-
ment of nay immortal soul--though I deserved all that and
more， I fimnd that I could no longer bear the weight.
I realized I didn t have to bear it， you see. I came to under-
stand that I had a choice. It must have been difficult for Christ
himself to withstand the agonies of the cross--the filth， the
thirst， the terrible spikes raping the jellied flesh of his hands--
knowing he had a choice. And I am not Christ， not even by
half.
My name is Andrew Compton. Between 1977 and 1988 I
|
内容加载中，请稍后...
商品评论（0条）