“Dangerous?” said Jung, “You’re life isn’t dangerous…”
He looked out the window into the distance: “Vietnam was Dangerous… I remember the napalm…”
You looked awkwardly at your feet, as you tend to do, but you had the courage to say it: “Carl, you didn’t fight in Vietnam, you were 79 years old and writing book cope in your little handmade castle in Europe”
It was brave to say it…
But sometimes being brave is stupid…
Carl went literally apesh*t: “You f**king soyboy
You think you know what it was like?
You think you’re hard?
You think war doesn’t leave scars?
I took LIVES like yours you maggot…
I spent days huddle in the pouring rain…
You spend days doing graphic design on instagram…
We are not the same”
He punched the wall in fury.
He then went to the press and proceeded to “integrate” several glasses of whiskey.
He growled.
He pulled open the press, and took out a pistol… it was loaded… full metal jacket…
He pointed it at your head. “I just wanted to know what archetypes to put in my storytelling… please.. don’t do this Carl”
He cocked the gun.
He stared with empty eyes.
Suddenly he burst into action.
He pulled your copy of “German Idealism Collected Works: From Hegel to Nietzsche” out of your bag.
He mercilessly unloaded a magazine into it.
Shards of paper were floating in the air.
The smell of sulpher stung your nose.
You were cowering in the corner.
He spoke without looking at you: “How about that for putting archetypes into stories?”
—
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