Emily Dickinson said in one of her poems that truth and beauty are the same thing. Of course, having said that, she starts right away talking about dying; man, what is her problem? She's like the first post-gothic goth poet. I bet she painted her nails black. Which, surprisingly, brings me back to my point, that beauty itself involves a lot of artifice. That being so, we shouldn't expect the stark truth to have stand there in it's nakedness.
So, this morning's post contained two true stories, but neither one was especially interesting as presented. Of course I gained weight. It's true, but after watching TV for fifty years, that's what we might have expected. You might have, anyway. I was shocked and disappointed.
A man lighting a cigarette and blowing up his house was dealt with far more interestingly in Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey. In his version the mailman is just pushing a letter through the slot as Leland decides not to kill himself and lights a cigarette. The house is destroyed, the mailman blown across the yard, and Leland and the letter miraculously survive. What timing, the letter invites him to come home. And he needs a new place to stay.