Friday, September 26th
He says his name is Wolf, although he is not a wolf.
He is a hamster.
I tried to goad him into debate on the nature of our captivity, on the emptiness of life and our irrational will to live.
He burped, laughed and defecated in the food tray.
He is either mad or profoundly stupid.
I am crushed.
He sleeps again. Perhaps I shall do the same.
It is my only option.
Edward was a hamster who smoked, went on hunger strikes, questioned his existence. Edward loved and Edward lost. These are his scratchings, translated from the original Hamster.
This little hardcover book, illustrated with black and white sketches, full of hamster musings, was a lovely way to spend an hour and round out my year of Kierkegaard.
Read an excerpt.
Article: New York Post.
Quiz: Who said it? Edward the Hamster or some other existentialist philosopher?
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