Larry's blog

The knife went in just below the sternum. This was lower than he intended. The idea was to sever the aorta which meant a quick death. Now Tony had to do what he hated; twist the knife. This was effective but widened the incision resulting in a blood bath and a long cleanup operation. He felt the life oozing out of his target as he fell to the floor, the blood gushing out in spurts as the heart finished its final beats. Tony pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. Hey, Johnny. Your problem is gone but it’s not as clean as I would have liked. I’m going to need a cleanup crew. I have the best. When they finish the cops won’t find a trace of blood anywhere. What is this gonna cost me? Usually 12 grand, but for you Johnny only 10. Ok, get it done. Tony hung up and put the phone back in his pocket after carefully wiping it down with the Kleenex he always kept in his back pocket. He didn’t usually think much about a job after he finished, but this time was different. May...

Liam peered over his half glasses at the menu, squinting as he struggled to read the special of the day. “I’m surprised this menu is so long”, I mused. “Restaurants are all shortening their menus in response to studies that customers are more satisfied when presented by fewer choices. People get overwhelmed with too many choices. Liam looked puzzled. “Don’t people want more choices?” “Yes, they say they do”, I agreed. “But when you ask how satisfied they are, they are happier with fewer choices. People are not good judges of what will make them happy. The older I get, the more I realize how right Sartre was when he said ‘Man is condemned to be free’. Maybe I can save you some time by recommending the pancakes, eggs, and sausages.” Liam furrowed his eyebrows and looked deep in thought. “What about scientists who say that everything is determined. Maybe we aren’t as free as we think?” “The scientists are correct about inanimate objects. You can predict the location of a...

The man in the frock with pointy shoes and bells, stood in line at the soup kitchen in the Bowery on a warm summer morning.  His flowing dark wavy hair fell to his shoulders, and he flipped his hair back as the other homeless people gaped at him.  “Can I have kippers and bangers with a side of Yorkshire pudding please,” he said to the man doling out food when he got to the head of the line.  The man looked him up and down for a moment and replied, “This isn’t the Windsor Castle here.  You’ll take what we got,” as he ladled a pile of watery porridge on to his plate.  The odd looking man sat down on the curb next to the other hungry denizens of the underworld.  The man sitting next to him greeted him and asked for his name.  “My name is Willie Spear,” he said.  “My name is Dean,” came the reply.  “Where are you from Willie?”  “Why I come from Stratford-on-Avon,” Willie said.  “Is that in Connecticut?”  Willie looked puzzled....

Control:  This universe we are creating will be exquisitely designed and fine-tuned for the existence of life. Chaos:  I don’t agree with this plan.  I think it should be chaotic and subject to the random process of probability.  The laws themselves should be chaotic and selected by the same process. Control:  Why?  We are the designers and should make it to our specifications.  Why leave anything to chance? Chaos:  Because we want any intelligent beings that we create to have free will Control:  We will give them the illusion of free will so they won’t know they don’t have it Chaos:  But why foster an illusion?  Isn’t it better for them to actually have it? Control:  No, because they may use it for evil and destroy themselves Chaos:  If that is their choice, so be it Control:  What if we compromise?  We start the universe in a highly ordered state, then through a law called entropy, we let it bec...

Professor Roger Fleming had taught this course many times before.  Philosophy 101 wasn’t his favorite.  It was an undergraduate introduction to philosophy class that seem to attract the most arrogant, snot nosed, spoiled rich kids at his sprawling urban institute for the overprivileged.  It wasn’t like the advanced graduate classes that attracted serious students that could challenge the limits of his knowledge.  As he prepared for the first day of the fall semester he thought he could go on autopilot and ignore the rude comments he sometimes got when minds would wonder during some of the more tedious lectures. “Rene Descartes is considered the father of modern philosophy,” he said at the beginning of his second lecture.  “The issues he dealt with are still being debated today.  Everything since Descartes can be considered a footnote to his works. He believed there are two types of substances:  Mental and physical.  He held that the material sub...

It was a hazy, hot day in New York.  The temperature reached 112 by 1 pm, a new record for the date.  The date was January 18, 2108.  It was an unusually warm winter people were saying.  Usually the winters in NY rarely see the temperature go over 90.  112 was more like the usual high temperatures in May.  Experts said the war against global warming was lost when a 21st century president named Donald Trump did not take strong action when there was still time to avert disaster.  Instead greenhouse warming spiraled out of control faster than anyone predicted at the time. Nadine Gordon lined up at her usual watering station according to the current schedule.  The line was two blocks long, but moved quickly.  When she reached the front the water guard filled her regulation one quart jug to the top.  Nadine then pointed to the pint container she had in her other hand.   “Do you have a ration card for that?” the guard asked.  ...

Philo:  Have you ever wondered why we are here? Hobbes:  You mean why we are here as opposed to somewhere else? Philo:  No, I mean why we are anywhere. Hobbes:  I know why we are here.  By chance and random events. Philo:  So there is no meaning to any of this? Hobbes:  No.  Why do you always try to give meaning to random events? Philo:  How do you live like that?  Maybe the fact that you see life as a series of random events is how you ended up here. Hobbes:  Excuse me.  Aren’t you here too?  What is your excuse? Philo:  At least I’m trying to understand and change things. Hobbes:  Is that why I saw you reading “Man’s Search for Meaning” in the library?  What a waste of time!  A search for nothing. Philo:  What do you plan to do if you get out of here? Hobbes:  Drive my motorcycle, bang as many broads as possible, and get high as much as I can. Philo:  And that wi...

The hall had become a long, winding labyrinth with colorless walls and a fog that made it hard to follow the path.  I shuffled along for what seemed an eternity until I saw the light that signaled the beginning of a new corridor.  When I reached the end, I saw the sign of a door directly in front of me that read “Ronald Jones, MD.”  I knocked on the door and a voice said to come in.  I opened the door to find a middle aged man in a neat suit and tie behind a desk who motioned to a chair in front of his desk.  “Hello, I presume you are David Morin, my 10 o’clock appointment,” he said in a clipped British accent as I sat down.  I nodded and he looked down and pored over a chart on his desk and slowly began shuffling the papers.  After a long pause he looked up and asked how I was feeling today.  I shuffled my feet and fidgeted, thinking how I can express the fog, the utter colorlessness of everything around me, and the loss of memory.  “I used ...

I The morning newspaper arrived at the usual time on a bright Tuesday morning on Jul 6, 1937.  I had subscribed to Izvestia since I was in exile for almost 20 years in London.  It was getting harder and harder to understand what was going on in Russia since I left.  I opened the first page while I settled in with a cup of tea at the kitchen table.  A small article at the bottom of p.2 caught my eye.  I squinted as I struggled to make out the first line: Mikhail Popovich, former Commissar of Internal Affairs, was executed yesterday after being sentenced to death for treason and subversive writing. I sighed as tears dribbled down the sides of my face.  Why did it have to end this way?  I could have seen it coming 34 years earlier when I came to London for the first time.  Young and naive, but filled with revolutionary fervor, hope, and optimism.  Mikhail was older, but seemed to preserve that feeling of youthful optimism.  Maybe by...

“Comrade Kalinov, it’s good to see you,” said the burly man with a walrus mustache.  I had heard about Stalin from the leader of the worker council in Kiev though I never thought I would meet him.  Now he was acting like he already knew me.  Had we met before?  Stalin extended his hand as he rushed towards me.  He was even more intimidating than I expected and had a coarse accent that betrayed his Georgian origins.  It was the fall of 1917 and I was sent here because I had shown some leadership potential in the party.  The July strikes had failed and now there was talk of another coup planned in the fall.  I thought back to my humble beginnings in the caucuses mountains, in a small farming village.  We were typically starving at these time of the year when there was nothing left of the harvest and all we can get was some crumbs from the Kulaks who belonged to the few families that owned all the land.  My father provided for his seven...

I didn’t see the left hand, the one that landed with a sickening thud against my kidney for what seemed like the millionth time.   I just felt the searing pain traveling from my lower back and enveloping my entire body.   My body told me to quit, yet my mind was still sharp, and a voice said keep going even as I wilted in the heat and kept getting blinded by midday sun.   But for how long?   I could see my opponent winding up for yet another left.   This time I was ready.   As I saw the blow coming I deftly moved aside and delivered a right counter that landed squarely on this jaw.   I saw him stagger ever so slightly and used my last ounce of energy on a left, right, left combination, each landing on the top of his head with a sledge hammer’s force.   I watched him go down in slow motion and the referee escorting me to the corner.   “You got lucky, you bum,” a short middle aged man yelled in my ear as the crowd roared.   The referee...