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There was no “tunnel,” and no vividly bright light that I moved toward, and whatever euphoria I experienced was as transient as the buzz from polishing off a few bottles of wine with dear Martin in the cafés of Monmartre. Yes, there appeared to be a passageway leading to something a bit brighter than the total darkness that I expected, but I experienced this for what it was: a well-known epiphenomenon of oxygen depletion in the dying retina.
-- Christopher Hitchens, as told to Art Levine at The Washington Monthly
A little something to remind us of Hitch. I'm not sure that this wasn't actually written by Hitchens, not from the afterlife, to be sure, but done before his hyperactive brain was finally stilled. People in the comments section derided Levine for falling short of the mark, but I thought it felt like Hitch's voice, perhaps minus a little of the volcanic flair of the colorful writer, though he might not have been at his best during the last weeks of his cancer-eaten life.
-- Christopher Hitchens, as told to Art Levine at The Washington Monthly
A little something to remind us of Hitch. I'm not sure that this wasn't actually written by Hitchens, not from the afterlife, to be sure, but done before his hyperactive brain was finally stilled. People in the comments section derided Levine for falling short of the mark, but I thought it felt like Hitch's voice, perhaps minus a little of the volcanic flair of the colorful writer, though he might not have been at his best during the last weeks of his cancer-eaten life.
