Thursday, February 27, 2014

the prism (III)


On a whim you decide to read Steinbeck's final novel The Winter of Our Discontent (1961). Inside you take no notice of this:




But you remember it when, for no particular reason, you pick up Alison Bechdel's Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic (2006) to read next, and inside you come across this:




Now, feeling confident that you serendipitously selected the correct book to read next, you give yourself a pat on the back and smile twinkle-eyed at the Heavens.

Then this morning you find yourself randomly thinking about Ethan Hawley, the main character in Steinbeck's novel, and while doing so you double click the Chrome icon on your desktop knowing that your old computer will still provide you with the opportunity for several more minutes of thinking-filled lull. Finally, your browser opens and you see that Google is celebrating something today. Unsure of what it is, you hover your mouse over the image, and instantly you feel like the Universe is smiling on you.




For a brief moment you think that perhaps you broke through to the secret workings of life, revealing it to be little more than the powerful projection of your imagination. Which is why you have no qualms about posting something that's so meaningless to everyone else. In more ways than one, your readers simply do not exist.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

We do exist. We are just very quiet.