The story I want to tell...

This is the story I really wish to tell. It is someone else's story .. a sad story at that. A very twisted story. There is too a real family attached to the story and they are no doubt deserving of some kind of sympathy. But what sort of tales would Doesteovski have written if burdened by the obligation to cushion the sensibilities other others? Or Dickens?

Here is an outline — or perhaps a misinterpetation or reorientation — of the story. It most certainly does not reflect the perceptions of any actual participants and as such cannot be said to resemble reality, but exists merely as a simulacrum, i.e. that thing (according to Deleuze) that corrupts the original.

Many months ago, there was a fatal car accident in the affluent Phoenix suburb of Scottsdale involving a well-respected if somewhat taciturn government employee, who was known primarily for arriving each day to work in pressed slacks and starched shirts with sleeves rolled down (a notable achievement in Arizona where the uniform consists of shorts on all occasions). He had worked in the government sector for many years and was generally respected by co-workers.

One night after work, as he drove down the very busy Camelback Road (a main drag of Scottsdale), he was suddenly compelled to put his car into cruise control, climb onto the car roof and stand with his harms outstretched — like Jesus on the Cross — before either jumping or tumbling to his death. The incident immediately raised quite a media furor.

Interestingly, the wife (in a statement made to the press) claimed that he was not depressed. She faulted instead a rare medical condition that often masks itself as severe depression and is known to even bring on delusional episodes .. a mysterious worm had invaded his brain. This was not just any worm mind you, but a worm picked up in Mexico during vacation. The family physician soon released his own diagnosis, verifying her claims and explaining that the worm was nearly impossible both to detect and to cure. In fact, the most common prescription for afflicted patients consisted of anti-depressants.

A worm picked up in Mexico. Not of course Mexico the nation-State with whom we share a common border .. but that other Mexico, a confabulation of our dark imaginations as all vacation destinations must be.
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