hi.

I Hate Autumn: an experiment in Emo prose

Tolling church bells blot out A Scanner Darkly on my non-Apple mp3 player as I run by.  It’s one of my favorite books, read by Paul Giamatti who would not have been my first choice to be the voice for this story, but he’s giving an amazing performance, not fancying up the characters too much, because that’s of course not the point of Scanner, but rather the dark decimation of the soul by chemical and societal means.

The church bells remind me of Burton’s Othello, whose beginning credits are accompanied only by a tolling bell, one for each screen of names.  So apparently the story begins at twenty-seven o’clock.

My cat is home after three days in the hospital.  She is very tired and shaved in odd places.  Please eat and drink, Gina.

Giamatti tells the episode of Bob Arctor’s admittance to the neural aphasia clinic.  I think of the experiments I worked on as an undergraduate testing the effects of aphasia on one’s ability to understand and interpret sarcasm.  I kept telling the project lead, “Sarcasm, like all comedy, is context and intonation based.  You cannot capture the true social dimension of sarcasm in isolated text fragments.”  But a math major’s voice will never guide the direction of psychological research.

I cut through Owl’s Head Park so I can run on the path next to the bay.  Three dirty white fishermen move about franticly as the two-foot shark they have caught thrashes on the pavement.  I do not stop to help, though I wish I had stopped to throw them into the bay.  A vegetarian seeing a shark drowning in air feels very similar to a liberal seeing the pictures from Abu Ghraib.

The guard at the aphasia clinic sees Arctor shivering on the floor shitting himself and calls him a loser.  “It’s easy to win,” says Donna via Giamatti.  “Anyone  can win.”  Arctor has neural aphasia because he is an undercover narcotics policeman.

Donna’s right, it usually is easy to “win”, but this confuses the American ethic of doing difficult things.  Will failure soon be our only class of challenges left to tackle?

I remember a dream from last night (technically a “hypnagogic hallucination” according to Freud) wherein I’m looking at  Disney coloring book, not yet colored in.  A full-page picture of Goofy (I cannot see his expression) is captioned “Start it up!”.  I would love to, Goofy, I really would.

A Nocturne: “It Was Just Beneath the Window”

Busted By Woody Allen