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Mammoth Trip, 2026

September 15

Mammoth Crest



It seems the aging process is a series of sacrifices until you are whittled down to the core.

There are more things, things more critical. That's what dying seems to be: one sacrifice of your personality after the other, sacrifice of identification, and of objects, of abilities, of friends. I just lost one such, whom I'd actually lost long ago, but now recently, after a troubled existence has gently died in his sleep; another who now awaits the verdict in the ICU whether the stem-cell transplant will rescue him.1

And I? I think I favor the version where it comes silently in my sleep. Whither the disposition of Rage, rage? -F.





1| As an update, JG is now out of the hospital and tentatively looking promising.