In 1962, The Novelist William Lindsay Gresham’s health began to take a turn for the worse. He had started to go blind and was diagnosed with tongue cancer. On September 14, 1962, he checked into the Dixie Hotel, Manhattan—which he had often frequented while writing Nightmare Alley over a decade earlier.^[3] There, 53-year-old Gresham took his life with an overdose of sleeping pills.^[4] His death went generally unnoticed by the New York press but for a mention by a bridge columnist.^[5]

 Business cards were found in his pocket, reading “No Address. No Phone. No Business. No Money. Retired.”^[

Wikipedia

I admire a man like Gresham for not taking himself too seriously. I understand he was troubled. He lived a troubled but interesting life. I know because I read up on him before writing a blog post yesterday devoted to Gresham. I included a review of his great crime novel, NIGHTMARE ALLEY.

first edition cover

I spent the bulk of yesterday writing the Gresham blog post. Then, don’t you know, just as I’m about to push the publish button…consigning my post to the cloud where it’ll live for all eternity…just as I’m about to push the publish button…I push the wrong button.

I delete my entire post!

It vanishes.

Not deleted to trash, which I can retrieve.

Deleted to OBLIVION.

I didn’t even know I had an OBLIVION button.

Apparently, I do. Because that terrific post is gone forever. Vanished into thin air. I can’t get it back. It’s like a sock you lose in the dryer. Like reimbursement receipts. Like my car registration when a cop pulls me over. Like my lost girlfriend, Brenda Holmes. Like every priceless item I ever owned. I can’t keep my shit in a safe spot. I lose everything.

Big Daddy Oblivion

One day I’ll lose my life. It’ll be like pushing that oblivion button. I don’t push it. I’m not up to that. Something pushes it. Whatever it is pushing it will know it’s time to push it. No one will save my ass from Something. Not my friends. Not Normal Guy. Not the Cockroach God. Not Jesus. (Don’t get me wrong. I got nothing against Jesus. Old Jesus is one of my favorite people. I repeat his name frequently. But I just kind of got a feeling he’s not going be there to save me from Oblivion. I don’t care what Reverend Ike said….).

Jesus will not save me. I know this. Say I had one scintilla of a belief that Jesus could save me from Oblivion. One Quantum particle of belief. Shit! I woulda got my ass saved a long time ago. I would’ve come forward when Billy Graham called out to me. I would’ve chased after Billy’s Limo. Screaming, “Save me, Billy! Save my ass!”

Oblivion will get me sooner than later. I’ll be like my lost blog post.

Deleted to Oblivion…

Highway Sixty One to nowhere

You can’t beat it? Groove on it…

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, Oblivion. You gotta look on the bright side.

I mean, there’s plenty of shit you can’t get rid of. Like Facebook. You ever try to unsubscribe to Facebook? Or any subscription where you gotta pay monthly? Once you’re living the good non-life in Oblivion you wont have any of that shit around pestering you. You won’t have Mortgage Payments or rent or taxes. You won’t have people around. I’m talking people you don’t want around. Neighbors. So called friends. You can wander around in NOTHING like it’s no big deal.

It’s real quiet in there.

Oblivion might be quiet but don’t count on it

Just because you’re being deleted to Oblivion like my lost blog post doesn’t necessarily mean it’s quiet in there. Chances are you’ll hear from some people.

Like, for instance, Bob Dylan.

You’ll hear him there. Mainly because he’s on a never ending tour. And once that’s concluded there’ll be another never ending tour. Followed by a After The Apocalypses Tour. Until finally when he’s finally deleted to Oblivion…it won’t work. It won’t work because he’s been around so long, singing, and playing, and playing and singing, forever, and ever. He’s defied Oblivion.

So you’ll be stuck listening to him.

And by the way, if you’re Italian, you’ll have this guy:

But only if you’re Italian or Sicilian.

Personally?

I’d just as soon not hear Dylan in Oblivion. Or anybody else for that matter. Oblivion should be what it is. Nothingness. A nice cool dream of nothing. Being nothing. Living nothing. Thinking nothing….

Come on now! What’s the big deal? Do you really want to be hanging around listening to your loved ones forever and ever throughout eternity? I feel more love and tenderness for my loved ones when they’re not around. I’m not irritated when they say stupid things. Or when they give me that WHY ARE YOU SUCH A LOSER look. Or when I gotta shell out for dinner or drinks.

I’m figuring Oblivion will suit me fine.

Like mixing a stiff one with some Stan Getz on the sterio…

Wait a minute. I won’t be able to drink or listen to Stan Getz.

Damn…

Oh, hell. Enough already. My head hurts thinking about Oblivion.

Oblivion is nothingness. But if they gave me one image to dwell on while there? This would be a pretty good one:

And if I’m forced to hear a Dylan song?

I’d probably pick this one: