Death of a.

One of the many maladies of modern day life is the absence of precision in speech. We have become, societally, expert at delusion. We major in memory loss.

My thoughts today, of course, are precipitated by our total lack recall on this the 67th Anniversary of the atomic-devicing of Nagasaki in which tens of thousands died literally in a flash.

We're too busy watching beach bikini volleyball to care.

In any event, here's Arthur Miller's final soliloquy from "Death of a Salesman."


LINDA: Forgive me, dear. I can’t cry. I don’t know what it is, I
can’t cry. I don’t understand it. Why did you ever do that? Help
me Willy, I can’t cry. It seems to me that you’re just on another
trip. I keep expecting you. Willy, dear, I can’t cry. Why did you
do it? I search and search and I search, and I can’t understand
it, Willy. I made the last payment on the house today. Today,
dear. And there’ll be nobody home. (A sob rises in her throat.)
We’re free and clear. (Sobbing more fully, released.) We’re free.
(Biff comes slowly toward her.) We’re free... We’re free...
(Biff lifts her to her feet and moves out up right with her in his arms.
Linda sobs quietly. Bernard and Charley come together and follow them,
followed by Happy. Only the music of the flute is left
on the darkening stage as over the house the hard towers of the
apartment buildings rise into sharp focus, and the curtain
falls.)