An English In Kentucky


















Thursday September 8th 2011    Tim Candler

   I sometimes take the depression test. I do so for three reasons.  The first reason is to reinforce my understanding of Foucault's criticism of psychiatry.   The second is to wallow in self pity.  And the third is to endeavor through providing correct answers to see how high a score I can honestly achieve.  Usually after this game, I feel more cheerful.  And this would be especially the case should the red light flash and should someone buxom in a white coat knock on the front door.

     Then there is that wonderful vehicle, the suicide note.  My own had I thought changed through the years, or at least become more subtle.  No longer do I just write down "Blessed release is the only real thing, the rest is guilt, power and bullshit."  Such a juvenile and some might even say Christian, or perhaps Catholic epitaph.  Yet recently I have realized that not much has really changed in the tenor of my scribbling since around nineteen seventy.   Which could well be why I am so drawn to the depression test, because usually it tells me I am perfectly normal

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