More for the Cork that Seizes Soapy Morning McDonald’s
Kitchen
“Now that
we have that out of the way,” the explainer in ritual garb began, as one camera
crew after another moved deeper into the house, one similar room succeeding the
previous again and again, with subtle differences and of course slight changes
in the perspective of one’s view into the courtyard.
“For it is
a courtyard, isn’t it?” Nano the Clown observed. “I can see another part of the house across
the way.”
“I think
there are more backyards than just one,” Dawson
suggested. “And more courtyards too,
just to be safe.”
Nano was a
threatening figure, tall and of indefinite bulk inside his coverall bag of
cloth. Only the head and hands
protruded.
“The feet
we can compare to the crunchy black head of some larva, only, since there are
two of them, it must be conjoined twins larvae, rambling down the aisles of the
all-night grocery store.”
“Our
favourite shop.”
I showed a
package of souse to a young woman in a drunken flirtation. Afterwards, my chest hurt as it does now,
although a film of the incident and encounter later served as the basis for an
introduction to the teachings of Gurdjieff.
“I like
souse,” Nano the Clown emphasized, looking down into one of the cameras with
his inherent emptiness all revealed. A
frightening thing. But imagine being
caught up in the machinery of one’s own successive moments, to see the
multiplicity of selves like clone flowers of compound fruit?
.
