THE PHILOSOPHICAL
ENIGMA THAT IS RUSSELL, MY LAST ROLL OF TOILET PAPER
by Christopher Dooley
I’ve written a few lines of free verse I think Russell
would appreciate:
Tight and sanitary—Open ended like the ugly questions
in this room—America the giant drain pipe—Spitting you out into
a cesspool of murk
Russell is composed of at least 65% post-consumer
waste. I have no idea what that means. But do I really know anything
about Russell, anyway? He’s such an enigma. A paradox I’ve been
wrestling with since I deposited him on the roller. He’s been staring
at me, peering into the dark heart of my cold intentions. I’ve been
intimate with Russell. Intimate in ways no man should speak
of. And yet, what do I know about him?
I know this and nothing more…
Russell was once thirteen pages in a philosophy textbook
and a pullout section of advertisements from the Los Angeles
Times. So he knows about Heidegger and how confronting death
will make you stronger. He knows that losing everything forces you
to admit your fears. He knows that at the end, you find your greatest
courage. And he also knows that knit polo shirts were once on sale
for $19.99, and women’s sport tees come in a variety of sizes and
colors. The complexity of this information startles him, confounds
his thinking, makes him long for more. But he is at the end, the
backside of a nondescript life, soon to be a wad of worthlessness
in the shallow pool of forgetting.
The free verse, continued:
America the perforated—One long roll of paper cut
into neat little squares—Rolled tight and sanitary—Bland and white
with a dash of clean scent—Little flowered impressions to mask its
true purpose —Unravel America—Pull it apart sheet by sheet—America
cannot face itself—America has to turn around and reach behind—One
square gone—Two squares gone—Nothing is missed in the end
Russell is emaciated now. Gaunt, almost. All sunken-cheeked,
and his ribs are showing. He clings to his last hope. He prolongs
the inevitable. Then he remembers that the world is falling apart.
That everything is breaking down in the intestines of existence.
He remembers this: All that once was eventually passes. This
thought brings him peace, wipes away his fear.
Russell lets go. Russell rushes into the darkness.
The calm sound of eternity swirls around him. “Let
it go,” he tells himself. “Let yourself come apart.”
