(no subject)
Lou thought about the naval battle. He thought about the Lake Me Saga, the Lake Me Situation, and all of her misfit principles and auxiliaries.
Under the shimmering white blue screen of Lou’s laptop, he hammered on the delicate thin keys. Tapping out thoughts in a rhythmic staccato, as words, formulated as representations of those thoughts - truncated and abbreviated. Words, thought Lou, can only say so much. Not to mention the fact that the words themselves had to undergo a sluice of representation, as the thought manifested in neural firings, triggering muscle and tendon reaction, all the way to his fingertips - clumsily ending on the flat pad of his laptop keyboard. For a brief moment, Lou wished he had a thinking cap that would forgo the longwinded reductionistic journey, and simply convey thoughts to others. But as a member of this particular material world, Lou would have to make do - he would have to use words like everyone else.
Henge used words to Ed Groat a couple of weeks before the naval battle - words which conflated the position, words that threw down a metaphoric gauntlet, and set the whole thing in motion - in a reductionistic sense. A series of dominoes. Mafioso. Machinists. Troopers. Perverts. Neurons and muscles and tendons, all firing in a convoluted path to some teleological end.
“What would Pete Limpelli think about all that,” Thought Lou, though he didn’t write it. “Or Sax Taxson?”
Under the shimmering blue and white screen, Lou used his ruddy, freckle smudged fingers to scroll the tracker pad to his minimized Myspace window. He hit ‘refresh.’ Two more hits than there were twenty three minutes ago.
William Comparetto
© 2007
Under the shimmering white blue screen of Lou’s laptop, he hammered on the delicate thin keys. Tapping out thoughts in a rhythmic staccato, as words, formulated as representations of those thoughts - truncated and abbreviated. Words, thought Lou, can only say so much. Not to mention the fact that the words themselves had to undergo a sluice of representation, as the thought manifested in neural firings, triggering muscle and tendon reaction, all the way to his fingertips - clumsily ending on the flat pad of his laptop keyboard. For a brief moment, Lou wished he had a thinking cap that would forgo the longwinded reductionistic journey, and simply convey thoughts to others. But as a member of this particular material world, Lou would have to make do - he would have to use words like everyone else.
Henge used words to Ed Groat a couple of weeks before the naval battle - words which conflated the position, words that threw down a metaphoric gauntlet, and set the whole thing in motion - in a reductionistic sense. A series of dominoes. Mafioso. Machinists. Troopers. Perverts. Neurons and muscles and tendons, all firing in a convoluted path to some teleological end.
“What would Pete Limpelli think about all that,” Thought Lou, though he didn’t write it. “Or Sax Taxson?”
Under the shimmering blue and white screen, Lou used his ruddy, freckle smudged fingers to scroll the tracker pad to his minimized Myspace window. He hit ‘refresh.’ Two more hits than there were twenty three minutes ago.
William Comparetto
© 2007