More Parts for the Folly

My morning's assignment was to make another brick. All bricks look the same size, but the particular minerals going into them makes each one unique. Even if I, say, made a brick, then made another brick from the exact same materials, they wouldn't be the same, since the second was made utilizing the experience of the first.

So, the brick had to be made, and made with care, for though in the folly's architecture a brick is indistinguishable (and possibly even invisible!) still it is necessary for each brick to bear the weight of its neighbours, for if even one brick is flawed and half-baked, the survival of the entire folly is put into jeopardy.

So I toiled that morning, making the brick. Of course, I was trying not to think of any earlier bricks, nor scheming the creation of future bricks; it was this brick and this brick alone that consumed my attentions. It would be different, and new. No brick like it had ever been made, or could be re-made. I set it out to dry, then I put it in the pile with the rest. How to arrange would be decided later.

 

*

 

I was sitting on a cold wooden floor. I had the corner of my fist in my mouth, and I was drooling. The feet of my mother pointed at me, and I looked up, and there she was: the only woman I had ever known. She pulled my fist out of mouth and took me by my hands. Disappointed, I whined. She made some high noises which, oddly, appealed to me. What was she after? Why was she pulling me? She moved her feet such that they blocked mine, and she kept pulling. I buckled my knees, having no other place to go, trapped and in despair, and still wondering: Why? Why? I felt like my arms would be pulled to pieces as my butt left the floor. She was stretching me up to my height. She made a step back, and I wobbled. What did it mean? She carefully balanced my body on my feet before releasing my hands. Things looked differently, but no better. To maintain balance, I had to move one foot at a time, forward. I moved them three times before falling. Why had I been used in such a way? What had been my crime?

 

*

 

"It's built on the principle of the giant rubber band," Pete told me. "Come on down to the dock, let me give you a lift."

It was indeed a giant rubber band. He wrapped on end around my waist; the other end of the band was who knew where. "Where's the other end of this band?"

Pete handed me some binoculars. "Look way over there. There's a tower five miles that-a-way."

Infinite focus, then the tower. "Is this safe?"

"Of course it is! Here, let me wind it up."

I was held in place by metal plates as Pete started a cranking motor. "We launch when the force gets to 5x10⁴ pounds PSI."

The metal plates flew away, and I was pulled instantly to the tower (which I passed at eight hundred MPH), then beyond, high above the troposphere and into the stratosphere, which was when I could see that the continents below were actually fierce dragons, snarling and screeching. I reversed direction, and eight minutes later I was back on the dock, and captured again by the metal plates.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Pete asked.

"That was extraordinary! Have you patented it?"

"Naw. Leonardo da Vinci beat me to it."

 

*

 

Do you remember when Neil Young's wife simply wouldn't believe him when he told her that "Cinnamon Girl" was entirely fictitious?

Where were you when von Ashenbach lost sight of the history of the world as it was being washed away, when he could only say: "Tadzio! Tadzio?"

Do you recall that day in 48 BC (your numbering undoubtedly differs from mine) when Julius Caesar and Cleopatra created Caesarion together?

Did you know Romeo? Did you know Juliet? Do you recall the moment they died together?

When Fulbert discovered that his niece Héloïse was playing the beast with two backs with Peter Abelard, how did you feel? They should not have been separated, I'm sure you'll agree?

When Hanuman jumped from the southern tip of India all the way to Lanka to rescue Sita for Rama, were you cheering him on?

At Babelsberg Studios, in Potsdam, Alfred Hitchcock met Alma Reville. Need I say more? I didn't think so!

Are you there now, all over the world, in every time, between every look and glance, from all men to all women and from all women to all men?

My love for you is greater than all these times multiplied together.

 

*

 

"Now children this is a very simple test. The results are going to be in your file for the rest of your life, but don't worry, because not everyone sees an X mark in the same way.

"It's a simple problem, as I've said. You have a whole bunch of coloured pieces on your desk. You're not being asked to count them, for that would take a very long time indeed! Rather, all you have to do is assemble them into a precise scale model of the International Space Station as it looked on September 22nd 2013.

"Now, as you go along, you'll notice some pieces are missing. That's because we have taken a number of pieces from your desk and put them on other desks. You'll have to sort it out amongst yourselves to get your proper pieces, and you can use whatever means necessary to get them.

"You're given two hours to complete this task. Now I understand you're probably taking this seriously, with the possibility of receiving a permanent X on your record and all, in a situation in which there is only one right answer and hence most or all of you will fail. That's life.

 

*

 

How could he have done it? Why did he do it? What was going through his head? Wasn't he worried about what others would say? Didn't he consider what his mother would think of him once she'd heard about it? Wasn't he at all concerned about what all the people (absent his mother) would think about it? Did he plan it out beforehand, or was it a spontaneous act? Did he leave any notes in his diary? Was he mentally ill? A nutcase? A fruitcake? Could things have gone differently? Had he been planning it all since he was just a little boy? Were there any traces that may have led a reasonable person to believe he would do such a thing? Has anyone checked his genes? What was his Meyers-Briggs type? What was his astrological sign? Could any of these elements have played a factor, even if via dime-store psychological reflexivity? Didn't anyone see it coming? More immediately: What did the witnesses have to say? Are they reliable witnesses? What are their histories? What's their heritage? Have they ever lied in the past? Any tell-tale vocal pauses in the recordings of their testimonies? Have they been examined through a

 

*

 

Smith, as if the worlds of fantasy and reality had changed spots, as if Julia, the most real part of his life, had become fantasy, went in to the Ministry the next morning, feeling almost fictional as he pulled out his wooden chair and, with a sigh of resignation, opened that morning's pneumo. Today, unlike the previous day, he printed out copies of the newspaper articles that were destined for the memory hole. He wanted Julia to understand, that evening and preferably in bed, what he felt was happening to the past.

"Knock knock!" It was Smith's comrade, Williams, at his cubicle's side.

"Good morning, Williams," said Smith.

"Smith! Do you know there's to be cake at noon? Arthur's being promoted."

"Yes, I've heard."

Williams nosed about on the desk and Smith barely controlled his terror when Williams picked up the print-outs and leafed through them. "These are all from four years ago, and they all concern Russia."

"Yes," coughed Smith (damn these Victory fags!). "It's all unhappened now."

Williams tossed the sheets down and appeared to forget all about it. "So, there'll be cake at noon."

"Yes, gladly."

"I'll have to note you printed these things out, you know."

 

*

 

Isn't it obvious that Music supersedes Literature?! Music can absorb Literature, but Literature can't absorb Music!

Have you ever watched a cat trying to read Proust?! They can't do it! But put on an Isley Brothers record, and you know, you can see, they're getting the idea of it!

The same is probably true for mushrooms and stuff like those, that, them! They probably respond, or at least care about, or maybe just are affected by, the raw acoustics of music!

Isn't that what Stevie was crazily going on about in 1977?!

When's the last time you saw a geranium pick up a book?! I suspect: It must have been a long time ago!

But! If they could! Lichens would crank up anything by Donny and Marie! Danielle Steele?! Regardless of her wonderful prose, they wouldn't care in the least!

Music supersedes literature! For all of life! For lichens and for everything else! This stuff here - it's silent! Find some sound! Stop it!

 

*

 

Take notes on the bad works, Kathy, and also let everyone know that Vincent Price was actually very nice, at CHCH.

Kathy Shaidle died a couple days ago, and where can I go to be shocked and surprised any more?

Although we travelled in many of the same circles, Kathedral B and so on, we never once did meet (or if we did, we didn't know).

Just twice I wrote to her. Those words, whatever they were, are dead too now.

In this small world, she was Starring.

This note has been short because she was just my Marilyn Monroe.

 

*

 

"I know all about your troubles."

"How could you? I don't know you from any random cat out the alleyway."

She arched her back to relax. "That doesn't matter in the least. That's because I know how to read your mind."

"Do you indeed?"

"I can't read your mind all the time; only early in the morning, before your infernal alarm goes off."

"I see."

"Yes. You know those times. You had one this morning."

"Did I? What was I thinking?"

"You were comparing yourself to certain, let us say, normal people of your acquaintance, and comparing your lot with theirs, and finding yours decidedly on the wanting side."

"I suppose I was, yes. What of it?"

"I am merely trying to prove to you that I know all about you."

I put my hand down upon her neck, and she twisted appreciatively. "Why not give it all up now, before you're entirely alone?"

"I like the ends of pictures, thanks."

"Oh, it's going to be awful! I pity you, with your consciousness, knowing you are to die. I'm not going to die."

Quickly I took her by the neck and squeezed. "You're not, eh?" Then, exhausted, I released her.

 

*

 

As I moved through the marketplace,

With its honest sellers, and its dishonest,

With the young girls, chaste or loose,

And the sounds of raucous trade jangling like metal money

Behind which could be heard the voice in the tower,

I found a plaza with a fountain and a well

And there I sat to contemplate the confusion of life.

A warmth came upon me then, on forehead and cheek,

For the sun had risen a watch ago

Despite the people's ignorance of its ascent.

I nearly cried, I felt like crying: "O sun!

You are the most beautiful item in the universe!

You feed the plants, you feed the people!

Your benevolent nature has been sung for centuries!

Look upon me now, and heal my discontent.

Make me know your mastery of the world."

Then, as if to me alone, a deep voice cried:

"You are poor, and you are misguided;

I am but an agent not unlike yourself!

All my powers are a gift from my beloved,

Who should naturally be your beloved, thus.

This is plain to see; cast aside your illusions!"

I rose, and walked, to a bend in the Tigris,

And prayed for more enlightenment.

 

*

 

The events are so hard to remember now....

I packed my suitcase to run away.... I had seven cents to my name.... My brother talked me out of it, and I unpacked my suitcase....

We found little golden flecks in the muddy shore of a lake.... It was gold, we were sure of it.... We filled buckets and got ready to sail upon the high seas....

There was a teenager named Walter, and he had a large hockey bag.... So, we talked about Walter's BIG BAG all summer long....

Paper route money allowed me to buy a bag of balloons.... I'd drop them, filled with water, on whomever passed below the bathroom window....

Kim down the street had a funny-looking brother.... Of course, I didn't know about Down Syndrome at the time....

The best places to play were in the houses that were under construction across the creek.... It was like our own private jungle gyms....

Once, it snowed so much, we built a network of tunnels on the bank of that creek.... About eight kids worked on it for a whole afternoon....

I dressed as a girl one Halloween, and looked good....

I can remember events, if I try.