a moment at a place

3:04 02-28-2009 WNW 28F

WAS THE reflection of the roof line

three storeys up up ahead

in the green glass of the vertical decorative entry tower

mated to the massive building's front

it looked as if the glass were transparent

and that the view was of the roof

extended along the plainly visible line

an illusion lasting two or three moments

and then the path, descending

led to the next view of the roof

line now oddly broken,

angled

diluted

and at that, the illusion itself

broken

and the green glass green now with

sudden

opacity

consider the specific conditions

obviously the angle of the eye at the elevation but was there also the

angle of the sun

perhaps the intensity of reflected light

necessary for the illusion-

that being the yet additional case,

we understand even better that the transitoriness

of epiphenomena

is vanishingly small

and these do,

in fact,

vanish

constantly,

infinitesimally:

instantaneous

annihilation

3:05

I pass a couple and the young woman

adjectivally rubenesque

has a low scoop top

and her ample cleavage

pulses with her step

and congeals in the frigid

air

I am encased in clothing

3:07

I pass three young men

the middle fellow is monologuing

loudly and animatedly

"And, then, I was, like..."

and he's enacteing some gesture or gestures

and his face was mask,

not unpleasant,

but mask the same

of the part he was playing

and I reminded me that

I had severally in the time a little before

been idly thinking of this or that

and it had usually been in the context

of some other or others

"he will look at me and say and I will. like, ...
"she will have thought on that and will say and I will, like ..."

"they knew about it and when I see them next, I will, like ..."

at which, my other me, or that same me regarding the former moment

curtly brought the curtain down on that play

and I resumed my erstwhile contemplation

which was

fetsch

obsession

theater

fantasy

puppet

marx

language -

wondering what,

if anything,

lay behind

these

the broken record

playing and re-playing all those parts

the script from one day to the next

is the same

except

a line here or there,

now and again,

vanished

until finally?

"I was, like ..."

how could this be else but

obsession?

obsessive

rote behavior

rote perception

rote mentation

puppets lurching jerking

on the stage

we have imbued these with human powers

better than that: magical powers

fetsch

envivened these unalive slabs of meat,

doughs of bread,

rods of rock

paper cutouts

shadow play

that self-absorbed internal diversion

from the legion of

illusions waiting

to be

seen

our lovely fetishes!

Fetsch

those nail-pierced

idols

carry them in

the deep cavity

hidden in

that humid

recess

whose

outfolded lips

like the exuding blossom

dripping here

with the nectar of

all-consuming

pleasure -

and there,

with the sour

and cloying

niccor seep

of

vanishment

and dull

regret

except:

that we step

now

and then

and now

and

then

from stone

to stone

bridging the

yawning

maw

skirting those pendulous edges

skipping lightly

with fine

and unassumed

precision -

stepping

into

and onto

unknown platforms

the thunderously tentative

theaters

nervous

but

excited

waiting

wanting

for the

curtain

to

rise

and then

to the

last

line

blinking in the lights