Some difficult fiction for the hardy soul

From Some Stones Don’t Roll (FicMemOne by Stephen C. Rose) eBook: Stephen C. Rose: Kindle Store http://buff.ly/1gBzxT2

It's time to tweet again. I do my tweets six days in advance. If something strikes me I dripfeed it and almost a week from now I shall look at my Twitter stream and see how many favorites it has from those who Justin Bieber follows or others among my 140,000 followers. I am a leader, that's for sure. Here waiting for the birds to land and the drip to end and flagellating myself not really for being immune to empathy for the dead. I have this thing about death ever since I read something about the patterns of the cosmos that suggested to me that there is a way things move that is entirely different than we are aware of and that that makes death itself something we need not lament or well we only lament it from our point of view. Face it.  I am just immune to empathy. That's all there is to it. I will not seek therapy now. I am too old and I see no one anymore. I cannot even imagine my Twitter verse.  Or is it Twitterverse. I invite new people daily. If they do not accept I unfollow them four days hence. I take pleasure in not following and pleasure in watching my followers increase in number. I shall get to a million and still have no fame. I do not want fame. I want change. Am I being honest? I am being very honest. I can take some sorts of pain, the medical kind, the post-prostrate inability to pee ten out of ten pain., But I cannot take the pain of ills I do not know. The social pain. The pain of fame. The pain of expectations.  Of being observed and thought to be what I might be, but cannot see myself as becoming. It is a crime that another's eye can glom what I can miss for decades. Forever perhaps. I rarely tweet the same things. I write them as I go along. I have been at this keyboard for more than three decades a full third of all my days, willing the world to change so it will be following the trajectory of my own imagining, Even though I know that if that happened the world would stop entirely. Immediately. No wonder I have no empathy.




Some Stones don't Roll
is the harrowing true tale
of a relationship between
the writer and a
person who happened
to be diagnosed as a
paranoid-schizophrenic
but unknown as such 
to the writer
It may well become
a classic in
the literature of
how we deal
with violence 
in our culture
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