Lobotomy Quotes

I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.

I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.

I didn't know what would take my mind off the sexy Spartan, except for maybe a total lobotomy.

It's psychosomatic. You need a lobotomy. I'll get a saw.

It would seem that emotions are the curse, not death-emotions that appear to have developed upon a few freaks as a special curse from Malevolence. All right then. It is our emotions that are amiss. We are freaks, the world is fine, and let us all go have lobotomies to restore us to a natural state. We can leave the library then, go back to the creek lobotomized, and live on its banks as untroubled as any muskrat or reed. You first.

- I won't be able to think. I won't be able to work. - Nothing will interfere with your work like suicide. (Silence) - I dreamt that I went to the doctor's and she gave me eight minutes to live. I'd been sitting in the fucking waiting room for half an hour. (A long silence) - Okay, let's do it, let's do the drugs, let's do the chemical lobotomy, let's shut down the higher functions of my brain and perhaps I'll be a bit more fucking capable of living. Let's do it.

We are all victims of what is done to us. We can either use that as an excuse for failure, knowing that if we fail it isn't really our fault, or we can say, 'I want something better than that, I deserve something better than that, and i'm going to try to make myself a life worth living.

I want amnesia! I want a fucking lobotomy. Could I please never think again? Look what’s happened to us, us, Tania. Don’t you remember how we used to be? Just look what’s happened.

Lobotomy,’ I mouth at him, trying to make it look like I’m scratching my forehead when I tap it and nod toward David. Rowan’s head tilts and I roll my eyes, gritting my teeth. ‘Lo-bo-to-my.’ Rowan’s head tilts in the other direction, his brow still furrowed but a hint of a grin playing at his lips. He subtly points at me, and then at himself. ‘You love me?’ he mouths.  I smack my head.

The Humane Society of America thinks Michael Vick should have a dog. I think whoever's in charge there should have a lobotomy.

What I'd like is a lobotomy, a clean job, the top of my head neatly sawn off and designated contents removed.

Every day a sharp tool, a powerful destroyer, is necessary to cut away dullness, lobotomy, buzzing, belief in human beings, stagnancy, images, and accumulation. As soon as we stop believing in human beings, rather know we are dogs and trees, we'll start to be happy.

Lassiter skidded in from the billiards room, the fallen angel glowing from his black-and-blond hair and white eyes, all the way down to his shitkickers. Then again, maybe the illumination wasn’t his nature, but that gold he insisted on wearing. He looked like a living, breathing jewelry tree. “I’m here. Where’s my chauffeur hat?” “Here, use mine,” Butch said, outing a B Sox cap and throwing it over. “It’ll help that hair of yours.” The angel caught the thing on the fly and stared at the red S. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Do not tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” V drawled. “I’ll have to kill you, and frankly, tonight we need all the wingmen we’ve got.” Lassiter tossed the cap back. Whistled. Looked casual. “Are you serious?” Butch said. Like the guy had maybe volunteered for a lobotomy. Or a limb amputation. Or a pedicure. “No fucking way,” V echoed. “When and where did you become a friend of the enemy—” The angel held up his palms. “It’s not my fault you guys suck—” Tohr actually stepped in front of Lassiter, like he was worried that something a lot more than smack talk was going to start flying. And the sad thing was, he was right to be concerned. Apart from their shellans, V and Butch loved the Sox above almost everything else—including sanity.

I’m fascinated by lobotomies, the idea of opening up the brain and snipping around a bit and then closing it up again, like fixing a car or something. And the person wakes up and is a little stupid but stupid in a happy, untroubled way.

The best way to get quiet, other than the combination of extensive therapy, Prozac, and a lobotomy, is first to notice that the station is on. KFKD [K-Fucked] is on every single morning when I sit down at my desk. So I sit for a moment and then say a small prayer--please help me get out of the way so I can write what wants to be written. Sometimes ritual quiets the racket. Try it. Any number of things may work for you--an altar, for instance, or votive candles, sage smudges, small-animal sacrifices, especially now that the Supreme Court has legalized them.

Science fiction used to be a dangerous literature. Now, it is a very commercial genre, and whatever dangers might still lurk within seem to have been safely sanitized for the marketplace. The real crime is that the lobotomy has been self performed. [David Gerrold - Afterword]

The old sound was alcoholic. The tradition was finally broken. The music is sex and drugs and happy. And happy is the joke the music understands best. Ultra sonic sounds on records to cause frontal lobotomies. Hey, don't be afraid. You'd better take drugs and learn to love PLASTIC. All diffrent kinds of plastic- pliable, rigid, colored, colorful, nonattached plastic. - Lou Reed (1965-1968)

When we realize, really get to know what stinkers we are, it takes only a little depression to tip the scales in favor of suicide. - Dr. Walter Freeman (62)

I can't guarantee that a lobotomy would stop her—babbling!!

I would rather have a free bottle in front of me than a pre-frontal lobotomy

Hell, who was she kidding? The only thing that could clear her head today would be a lobotomy.

Have you ever had a date so bad, it makes you contemplate a lobotomy?

a problem so complicated only a lobotomy could solve it

Is this every kid's worst fear - that his mother and father don't love him? It was mine. (239)

Despite the instant blast of heat, I ran through it without a backward glance. “That’s love for you,” I heard Ian say. “Glad I’m too corrupt to fall victim to that form of intelligence lobotomy.” “I hope you fall head over heels for someone who insists on monogamy!” I

What's a „culture“? Look it up. „A group of micro-organisms grown in a nutrient substance under controlled conditions“. A squirm of germs on a glass slide is all, a laboratory experiment calling itself a society. Most of us wrigglers make do with life on the slide; we even agree to feel proud of that „culture“. Like slaves voting for slavery or brains for lobotomy, we kneel down before the god of all moronic micro-organisms and pray to be homogenized or killed or engineered; we promise to obey.

If you want to live a life free of regret, there is an option open to you. It’s called a lobotomy.

I often felt there was something wired weirdly in my brain, a problem so complicated only a lobotomy could solve it - I'd need a whole new mind or a whole new life

She gives your son a lobotomy, and that’s okay. Then she’s mean to your dog and you get a divorce?

Remember—humans once believed the world was flat, that margarine was better than butter, and that an ice-pick lobotomy cured mental illness. Aren’t you glad those days are over?

He’s met someone,” she said during one of our Skype calls in my second year of medical school. “Another demon?” “I think he really likes her.” “Watch out for a lobotomy scar, or the mark of the devil. It might be tucked beneath her hair.” “They’re coming home at Christmas so he can introduce her to our parents.” “Hold a mirror up to her and see if she has a reflection.” A

Utopians are heedless of methods. To render the human species happy, they are prepared to subject it to murder, torture, lethal injection, incineration, deportation, sterilization, quartering, lobotomy, electrocution, military invasion, bombing, etc.

Years ago, when physicians didn’t know how to treat the mentally ill, they began shock therapy, and in extreme cases—lobotomies. They would poke holes in their brains, Miss Barstow. Human beings are cruel creatures. And what we don’t understand, we tamper with until we destroy it.

I hate having feelings. Why does sobriety have to come with feelings? One minute I feel excited, the next I feel terrified. One minute I feel free and the next I feel doomed. I think about lobotomies. Are they like nose jobs, can you just go and have one? Or do you need a doctor's recommendation?

The half-full bottle in front of me, is better than a full-frontal lobotomy.

To get Windows 10 reliable, I had to lobotomise the installed software and USB devices.

Therapy had clearly mellowed him out. Not. He needed electric shock therapy, or a lobotomy, or both. I was willing to experiment.

They’re not idealists like Joe and me; they’re cynics with utter faith. It’s a sort of brain defect, like a lobotomy—that

The only book that can actually teach you how to change how others think is a lobotomy manual.

I’d rather watch you make skin ornaments and eye baubles than go to the kitchen and check on Lobotomy David. Let’s just go with that.

No one took any notice of you if your lobotomy still seemed to be working.

Someday, i dream we will medically address mental illness in a way that helps people WITHOUT completely crippling them, creatively or robbing them of their precious sensitivity. No one wants to live life feeling like they underwent a chemical lobotomy, that is not living. And, "Normal" needs a much broader definition... perhaps we could just replace that word with, "harmonious living.

The teacher usually learns more than the pupil. Isn’t that true?” “It would be hard to learn much less than my pupils,” came a low growl from somewhere on the table, “without undergoing a prefrontal lobotomy.

The teacher usually learns more than the pupils. Isn't that true? 'It would be hard to learn much less than my pupils,' came a low growl from somewhere on the table, 'without undergoing a pre-frontal lobotomy.

The week the local paper carried a story about the boy’s incarceration and lobotomy in the state hospital at Rusk, the guys at the refinery pitched the kid’s daddy a party complete with balloons and noisemakers.

Lobotomy The stifling air in the dark cell slowly turned colder with that one word. Every beat of Solomon’s heart brought the poison of that word deeper into his mind, until his blood felt like acid and scraped at his bones.

Does everything have a father? Apparently so. A web search on “the father of” turned up fathers for vasectomy reversal, hillbilly jazz, lichenology, snowmobiling, modern librarianship, Japanese whiskey, hypnosis, Pakistan, natural hair care products, the lobotomy, women’s boxing, Modern Option Pricing Theory, the swamp buggy, Pennsylvania ornithology, Wisconsin bluegrass, tornado research, Fen-Phen, modern dairying, Canada’s permissive society, black power, and the yellow schoolbus.

Trick-cyclist or assuager of discontents, whatever his title, the psychiatrist had now passed into history, joining the necromancers, sorcerers and other practitioners of the black sciences. The Mental Freedom legislation enacted ten years earlier by the ultraconservative UW government had banned the profession outright and enshrined the individual’s freedom to be insane if he wanted to, provided he paid the full civil consequences for any infringements of the law. That was the catch, the hidden object of the MF laws. What had begun as a popular reaction against ‘subliminal living’ and the uncontrolled extension of techniques of mass manipulation for political and economic ends had quickly developed into a systematic attack on the psychological sciences. Over-permissive courts of law with their condoning of delinquency, pseudo-enlightened penal reformers, ‘Victims of society’, the psychologist and his patient all came under fierce attack. Discharging their self-hate and anxiety onto a convenient scapegoat, the new rulers, and the great majority electing them, outlawed all forms of psychic control, from the innocent market survey to lobotomy. The mentally ill were on their own, spared pity and consideration, made to pay to the hilt for their failings. The sacred cow of the community was the psychotic, free to wander where he wanted, drooling on the doorsteps, sleeping on sidewalks, and woe betide anyone who tried to help him.

None of this information deterred Joseph Kennedy. He engaged Freeman and Watts to perform a lobotomy on Rosemary. She was kept awake for the procedure as they asked her to recite the lyrics to simple songs like “God Bless America” and the months of the year. They kept cutting until she became incoherent.

The most famous victim of the surgery is probably JFK’s intellectually disabled sister, Rosemary Kennedy: subjected to a prefrontal lobotomy at twenty-three in an attempt to calm her emotional outbursts, she spent the remaining sixty years of her life institutionalized, reduced to the mental capacity of a toddler.

I often felt there was something wired weird in my brain, a problem so complicated only a lobotomy could

. I often felt there was something wired weird in my brain, a problem so complicated only a lobotomy could solve it

I often felt there was something wired weird in my brain, a problem so complicated only a lobotomy could solve it

The banning of books is the greatest statement of both intolerance and stupidity. A country which does this is just giving a lobotomy to itself.

I'm cracking up in this fucking Fishbinder Problem Box. A terrible seizure is coming on, I can feel its sinister pulsation creeping up my spine as I gnaw my tail apprehensively, grinding my teeth with anxiety, wishing I had some DDT to drown these rats in misery, repetitive cycles of poetry, symptoms of psychotic activity, rhyming of lines endlessly, results in Mazes D and E, dervish spinning round me vis-a-vis, Poole, Broome, Helvicki, help me, please, somebody, take a look at my pedigree, Albino Number 243, Doctor of Psychology, rashes, warts, and a small goatee, expert in lobotomy, performed six times on a chimpanzee, sweet land of liberty, Jesus this is agony, poisonous snake subfamily, here he comes after me!

And I realize the unbearable anguish of insanity: how uninformed people can be thinking insane people are 'happy', O God, in fact it was Irwin Garden once warned me not to think the madhouses are full of 'happy nuts', 'There's a tightening around the head that hurts, there's a terror of the mind that hurts even more, they're so unhappy and especially because they cant explain it to anybody or reach out and be helped through all the hysterical paranoia they are really suffering more than anyone in the world and I think in the universe in fact,' and Irwin knew this from observing his mother Naomi who finally had to have a lobotomy ― Which sets me thinking how nice to cut away therefore all that agony in my forehead and STOP IT! STOP THAT BABBLING! ― Because now the babbling's not only in the creek, as I say it's left the creek and come in my head, it would be alright for coherent babbling meaning something but it's all brilliantly enlightened babble that does more than mean something: it's telling me to die because everything is over ― Everything is swarming all over me.

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy

Ditto for the stereotype about men monopolizing conversations. Like Sasha, many of my dates—even the more passive ones—did most of the talking. I listened to them talk literally for hours about the most minute, mind-numbing details of their personal lives; men they were still in love with, men they had divorced, roommates and coworkers they hated, childhoods they were loath to remember, yet somehow found the energy to recount ad nauseam. Listening to them was like undergoing a slow frontal lobotomy. I sat there stunned by the social ineptitude of people to whom it never seemed to occur that no one, much less a first date, would have any interest in enduring this ordeal.

I am grateful now to have it all—even the worry and the pain. I no longer want a lobotomy, no longer want him erased. I will take the worry in order to take what has come through as the most important emotion after my hemorrhage.

It has been suggested that Joe Sr. spoke with doctors about a very experimental brain operation for the treatment of serious mental-health conditions, leucotomy—popularly known as prefrontal lobotomy—while he was still in England.

Dissociative amnesia” is the official diagnosis. More commonly known as repressed memory syndrome. Basically, what I witnessed was too horrific for my fragile mind to hold on to. So I mentally cut it out. A self-performed lobotomy.

Tony, you’re such a cynic,” says Charis, with a pitying sigh. She keeps hoping for Tony’s spiritual improvement, which would consist, no doubt, of a discovery of previous lives, a partial lobotomy, and an increased interest in gardening.

Sixty percent of lobotomies were conducted on women (one study in Europe found that 84 percent of lobotomies were conducted on female patients), even though women made up a smaller segment of the psychiatric population in state hospitals.

We are all victims of what is done to us. We can either use that as an excuse for failure, or we can say, "I want something better than that, I deserve something better than that, and now I'm going to try to make myself a life worth living

We never talked about the future. We never talked about what would happen when we got out of Rancho Linda. I don't know if that's being a teenager, or being a teenager in a place like Rancho Linda, but you lived only for the day, or only for the moment. It was all about getting through whatever was happening right now. You didn't worry too much about what was coming later, because right now was all you could deal with. It was like you were in a river, caught in the current, and you were going whatever way it took you. You knew you had no control over your own destiny-- so you didn't dream, and you didn't plan. There was no reason to plan. You knew you had to survive what you were going through, and the way to make it survivable was to try to have fun.

There are cameras and mirrors watching us everywhere. I fix my hair and try not to look too drunk. At the checkout stand we line up on the border of sanity holding our passports, our visa cards. Some women will make it. Others will be asked to stay with their carts, they will be given different clothes, lobotomies, and schizophrenic outbursts, until they look like they grew out of the pavement without mothers or fathers. A number will be tattooed on their neck and they will be ushered outside through special doors that never let you back in.

disorder, chronic pain, and bipolar and other mood disorders. The procedure was also used to treat perceived defective personality traits that included homosexuality, nymphomania, criminal behavior, and marijuana and drug addiction. Freeman would later describe potential patients as society’s “misfits.” Women, in particular, made up the largest group of lobotomy patients. Women who were depressed, had bipolar illness, or were sexually active outside the range of socially and culturally acceptable limits of the day—including single women exhibiting typical sexual desire—were considered candidates.

It was about time you noticed that love grows only in your head. Imagine you could have spent your whole life thinking you are special to someone who doesn't even know you exist. It's time. It's time for your love lobotomy. And get rid of that dream of yours about being the main character in love fairytales. You're not.

In subject files labeled as correspondence related to Rosemary Kennedy, withdrawal sheets indicate the removal of hundreds of documents dating between 1923 and the 1970s. This leaves significant gaps in the historical record. A large amount of the withdrawn material is associated with Rosemary’s treatment and care after her lobotomy.

It has come to my belated attention, due to a loop that I only recently managed to break, that, although you are undoubtedly human, and fragile, I am still fond of you. I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve asked the doctor if I can be cured or operated on, but it seems there is no cure, lobotomy, or programming solution to my dilemma but one. I need to keep you.

my earliest memories of the snow are unhappy ones. I stepped into a snow drift that was so deep I sank in up to my waist and couldn’t get out.

When you’ve been at the bottom, nothing looks that bad, and I had been at the bottom for quite a while. The bottom was normal for me. But the bottom got worse.

In one case a desperate college student felt so trapped by his obsessive worries and compulsions that he put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet passed into his frontal lobe, causing a frontal lobotomy, which was at the time a treatment for obsessive-compulsive disorder. He was found still alive, his disorder cured, and he returned to college.

My grandfather, like most lobotomists, performed a disproportionate number of psychosurgeries on women. This discrepancy never received a satisfactory explanation, but it seems worth pointing out that the known clinical effects of lobotomy—including tractability, passivity, and docility—overlapped nicely with what many men of the time considered to be ideal feminine traits.

Did David beg you to stop when you decided to play Lobotomy Barbie with his face? I bet he pleaded with you, and you loved the sound. But the funny thing is, Mr. Carmichael, you and I have something in common. I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says. A devastatingly beautiful smile creeps across her lips as she leans close to his ear. “I love the sound when my victims beg too.

... A lobotomy involved some kind of rod or probe inserted through the eyesocket,the term was always "frontal" lobotomy;but was there any other kind?Knowing that internal stress could cause failure on the exam merely set up internal stress about the prospect of internal stress. There must be some other way to deal with the knowledge of the disastrous consequences fear and stress could bring about.Some answer or trick of the will:the ability not to think about it.What if everyone knew this trick but Claude Sylvanshine?He tended to conceptualize some ultimate,platonic-level Terror as a bird of prey in whose mere aloft shadow the prey was stricken and paralyzed,tembling as the shadow enlarged and became inevitability.He frequently had this feeling:What if there was something essentially wrong with Claude Sylvanshine that wasn't wrong with other people?What if he was simply ill-suited,the way some people are born without limbs or certain organs?The neurology of failure.What if he was simply born and destined to live in the shadow of Total Fear and Despair,and all his so called activities were pathetic attempts to distract him from the inevitable?...

At McLean Hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts, one of the premier psychiatric hospitals in the nation, women represented eighty-two percent of the total number of lobotomy patients from 1938 to 1954. In hospitals across the country, women constituted between sixty and eighty percent of all lobotomy recipients, in spite of the fact that men comprised the majority of institutionalized patients.

had been insulin shock therapy, in which the patient was injected with insulin to induce a short coma; the theory was that regular treatments, a coma a day, might slowly chip away at the effects of psychosis. Then came the lobotomy, the severing of the nerves of a patient’s frontal lobes—which, as the British psychiatrist W. F. McAuley delicately put it, “deprives the patient of certain qualities with which, and perhaps because of which, he has failed to adapt.

And has anything changed today? Where are the authorities now? How come any regular M.D. or pediatrician is allowed to diagnose depression or bipolar illness or ADD in children, and prescribe medications, without a second opinion? How many children are taking powerful brain medications now simply because their parents find them too difficult to handle? How many of those boys and girls are having their childhoods taken away from them, the way mine was taken away from me?

My ideal relationship would be with a heart man who possesses a powerful, methodical brain, preferably an expert in some stem discipline. My dream is that we will marry and he will allow me to take his brain from him, year after year, a tiny bit at a time, through shock treatments and partial lobotomies, until he can't function on his own and I have to care for the drooling husk of his body until it expires. It is only for this that I'd surrender pieces of my literal heart.

Madness was all very well if you were Alma and in a profession where insanity was a desirable accessory, a kind of psycho-bling. You couldn’t get away with it down Martin’s Yard, though. In the reconditioning business there was no real concept of delightful eccentricity. You’d find yourself as the recipient of a pharmaceutical lobotomy provided on the National Health, as a result of which your waistband would expand as your abilities to think, talk and respond to stimuli contracted. This

In our world, feelings don’t rule, many things can’t be changed, and acceptance of limits, not limitless self-improvement, is the key to moving forward and dealing effectively with any and all crap that life can throw your way. So, no, we can’t tell you how to repair a long-broken relationship with a difficult parent, reform a bad boyfriend, or get respect from your boss, but that’s only because nobody can. The only book that can actually teach you how to change how others think is a lobotomy manual.

In 1949, neurologist Egas Moniz (1874-1955) received a Nobel Prize for his discovery of ‘the therapeutic value of leucotomy in certain psychoses’. Today, prefrontal leucotomy is derided as a barbaric treatment from a much darker age, and it is to be hoped that, one day, so too might antipsychotic drugs.

You have got to stop writing in the library books," Tyson said. "I will if you stop looking at me like I just kicked a kitten," I replied, sliding the offending book away from him. "I couldn't help it. Someone needs to edit these things." He sat back in the library chair. "Yeah, they're called editors and they already did that." I snorted. "Please. I could drive a truck through the holes in your education." "We're here about your education, not mine." He actually lowered his forehead to bang it on the table. The librarian sent me a stern glance. "What?" I said. "I'm not the one giving myself a lobotomy.

That’s true for everybody, I guess. We are all the victims of what is done to us. We can either use that as an excuse for failure, knowing that if we fail it isn’t really our fault, or we can say, “I want something better than that, I deserve something better than that, and I’m going to try to make myself a life worth living.”   I

Ditto for the stereotype about men monopolizing conversations. Like Sasha, many of my dates—even the more passive ones—did most of the talking. I listened to them talk literally for hours about the most minute, mind-numbing details of their personal lives; men they were still in love with, men they had divorced, roommates and coworkers they hated, childhoods they were loath to remember, yet somehow found the energy to recount ad nauseam. Listening to them was like undergoing a slow frontal lobotomy. I sat there stunned by the social ineptitude of people to whom it never seemed to occur that no one, much less a first date, would have any interest in enduring this ordeal. This was a human, not a male or female, failing.

In California, there was Atascadero State Hospital, constructed in 1954 at the cost to taxpayers of over $10 million (almost $110 million in today’s money). Atascadero was a maximum-security psychiatric prison on the central coast where mentally disordered male lawbreakers [including homosexuals] from all over California were incarcerated. Inmates were treated at Atascadero by a variety of methods, including electroconvulsive therapy; lobotomy; sterilization, and hormone injections. Anectine was used often for ‘behavior modification.’ It was a muscle relaxant, which gave the person to whom it was administered the sensation of choking or drowning, while he received the message from the doctor that if he didn’t change his behavior he would die (10).

Normal psychic life depends upon the good functioning of brain synapses, and mental disorders appear as a result of synaptic derangements…. It is necessary to alter these synaptic adjustments and change the paths chosen by the impulses in their constant passage so as to modify the corresponding ideas and force thought into different channels.5 Alter synaptic adjustments. Sounds delicate. Yeah, right. These were the words of the Portuguese neurologist Egas Moniz, around the time he was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1949 for his development of frontal leukotomies. Here was an individual pathologically stuck in a bucket having to do with a crude version of the nervous system. Just tweak those microscopic synapses with a big ol’ ice pick (as was done once leukotomies, later renamed frontal lobotomies, became an assembly line operation).

Like God, you hover above the page staring down on a small town. Outside a window some scenery loafs in a sleepy hammock of pastoral prose and here is a mongrel loping and here is a train approaching the station in three long sentences and here are the people in galoshes waiting. But you know this story about the galoshes is really About Your Life, so, like a diver climbing over the side of a boat and down into the ocean, you climb, sentence by sentence, into this story on this page. You have been expecting yourself as a woman who purrs by in a dress by Patou, and a porter manacled to the luggage, and a man stalking across the page like a black cloud in a bad mood. These are your fellow travelers and you are a face behind or inside these faces, a heartbeat in the volley of these heartbeats, as you choose, out of all the journeys, the journey of a man with a mustache scented faintly with Prince Albert. "He must be a secret sensualist," you think and your awareness drifts to his trench coat, worn, softened, and flabby, a coat with a lobotomy, just as the train pulls into the station. No, you would prefer another stop in a later chapter where the climate is affable and sleek. But the passengers are disembarking, and you did not choose to be in the story of the woman in the white dress which is as cool and evil as a glass of radioactive milk. You did not choose to be in the story of the matron whose bosom is like the prow of a ship and who is launched toward lunch at the Hotel Pierre, or even the story of the dog-on-a-leash, even though this is now your story: the story of the person-who-had-to-take-the-train-and-walk- the-dark-road described hurriedly by someone sitting at the tavern so you could discover it, although you knew all along the road would be there, you, who have been hovering above this page, holding the book in your hands, like God, reading.

But nothing is ever enough, have you noticed?” he said. “I can’t touch you enough. I can’t make you happy. I can’t say anything right to you. And you can’t take away from me a single thing I’ve fucked up along the way.” She became deflated. “You’re here, and you’re forgiven for everything,” she said quietly, sitting up and closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his tattooed arms and his scar-ribbon chest. “Tell me the truth,” Alexander said. “Don’t you sometimes think it’s harder—this—and other stuff like the magazines quizzes—harder for the two of us? That magazine quiz just points up the absurdity of us pretending we’re like normal people. Don’t you sometimes think it would be easier with your Edward Ludlow in New York? Or a Thelma? No history. No memories. Nothing to get over, nothing to claw back from.” “Would it be easier for you?” “Well, I wouldn’t hear you cry every night,” Alexander said. “I wouldn’t feel like such a failure every minute of my life.” “Oh my God! What are you talking about?” Tatiana yanked to get off him, but now it was Alexander who held her in place. “You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his eyes blazing. “I want amnesia! I want a fucking lobotomy. Could I please never think again? Look what’s happened to us, us, Tania. Don’t you remember how we used to be? Just look what’s happened.” His long winter’s night bled into Coconut Grove through all the fields and villages in three countries Alexander plundered through to get to the Bridge to Holy Cross, over the River Vistula, to get into the mountains, to escape to Germany, to save Pasha, to make his way to Tatiana. And he failed. Twenty escape attempts—two in Catowice, one ill-fated one in Colditz Castle, and seventeen desperate ones in Sachsenhausen, and he never got to her. He had somehow made all the wrong choices. Alexander knew it. Anthony knew it. With the son asleep, the parents had hours to mindlessly meander through the fields and rivers of Europe, through the streets of Leningrad. That was not to be wished upon. “Stop it,” Tatiana whispered. “Just stop it! You didn’t fail. You’re looking at it all twisted. You stayed alive, that was all, that was everything, and you know that. Why are you doing this?” “Why?” he said. “You want it out while sitting naked on top of my stomach with your hair down? Well, here it is. You don’t want it out? Then don’t ask me. Turn the light off, keep the braid in, get your”— Alexander stopped himself—“get off me, and say nothing.” Tatiana did none of those things. She didn’t want it out, what she wanted, desperately, was him to touch her. Though the aching in her heart from his words was unabated, the aching in her loins from her desire for him was also unabated.

Thank god for Vegas. Seriously. A lobotomy wasn’t as effective as a weekend three hours of Red Bull away (from LA, not Pismo) where I wore the thinnest pinned stilettos, gambled like a sweaty degenerate mobster in black loafers, drank like Amy Winehouse and Charles Bukowski’s baby, and snorted throat-dripping lines of coke in a Hard Rock Hotel bathroom with four new best friends. I’d giddily rub off any one of those from the to-do list I wrote in eyeliner on my hotel bathroom mirror.

In 1936, shortly after the first lobotomies were performed in Lisbon, the procedure came to our side of the sea, where it was adapted with all-American vigor, so much so that by the late 1950s, more than twenty thousand patients had had lobotomies and the surgery was being used to “cure” everything from mental retardation to homosexuality to criminal insanity.

The Left Elite has worked for years to brainwash us into a sort of values lobotomy. We are not to judge those who kill, if the guilty are people of color or women; we are to excuse those who destroy lives as victims of a racist, sexist, and homophobic world, or now, on the global scale, the unfair and oppressive "multinational corporate" world; we are to blame the innocent and lionize the guilty.

You were sitting up in the bed, with two black eyes,” Brian said later. “You looked listless. And sad. Like a zombie. It’s not a nice word to use, but it’s the only word to use. You were zoned out and staring. I was in shock. And sad. It was just terribly sad.

One patient died on the operating table when Freeman stopped, mid-surgery, to take a photograph.

In an attempt to learn more about what happened during a lobotomy, Freeman tried performing them with the patient wide awake, under local anesthesia. During one of these procedures, Freeman asked the patient, while cutting his brain tissue, what was going through his mind. “A knife,” the patient said. Freeman told this story with pleasure for years.

On one five-week driving tour of America, he visited eight states and performed 111 lobotomies. He made these tours driving a specially outfitted car that he called “The Lobotomobile.

One of his surgical assistants—Jonathan Williams, who replaced James Watt after Watt refused to go along with Freeman’s plan to do lobotomies in his office, without a surgeon present—later told a story about a patient who had been brought to Freeman for a lobotomy. The day before the surgery, though, he’d gotten cold feet and refused to go through with the operation. He locked himself in his hotel room. Freeman, contacted by the patient’s family, drove to the hotel and convinced the patient to let him in. Using a portable electroshock machine he had designed and built for himself, he administered a few volts to the patient to calm him down. According to Williams, “The patient was…held down on the floor while Freeman administered the shock. It then occurred to him that since the patient was already unconscious, and he had a set of leucotomes in his pocket, he might as well do the transorbital lobotomy then and there, which he did.

On more than one occasion, Williams had to open the skull the old-fashioned way and surgically remove two or three inches of broken-off steel from behind the eye sockets, cleaning up after Freeman had made a mess.

Rich folks shelling out big bucks for a lobotomy. That was a genius scam if there ever was one. They