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Friends of
The Brain |
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| Forty
foot high enterprises… 6/28/01 continued
from front page. |
Porno.
But isn't all interesting artistic material only
the identified and accentuated bulbs of organization
and truth, the articulated veins of humor or pathos
shot through the coarse and sloppy matter of existence?
At the least it's a prettified and amusing commentary
on what really are only matters of course in a history
that is repetitive and absurd, farcical and predictable.
Or a veil of plot, exposition and teleology laid
over the seething, teeming mass of interactive matter
-- eroding or slowly slouching towards death, then
rotting -- and anti-matter. Foof. Blah
blah blah…
Traffic loosened up. He moved his right foot, accelerating.
Homeward. A fourth floor apartment. His bubble of
solitude and endeavor connected by the I-10 freeway,
threading to another bubble of endeavor on the fourth
floor of his work place. Any vision of the ends
of these endeavors lay in a swamp of fog outside
the bubbles. That he was busy in his bubbles seemed
important, but to what end he stopped questioning
long ago. The meaning lay in the mind of the observer
outside the bubbles, and that observer might never
have been.
The diversions also seemed important. But the more
diverted - by travel, sightseeing, pursuit, humping,
restaurants - he became from his bubble activities,
the more he felt diminished, like he brought less
and less to his diversions the more he indulged
in them, and the less industry occurred at home
or at his office. He sighed inwardly and turned
on the radio, hoping to hear a report on why his
progress homeward was so halting.
…
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