If sadness is akin to patience, we're back! Pattern recognition was our first response to loneliness. Here and there were like one place. But we need to triangulate, find someone to show. * There's a jolt, quasi-electric, when one of our myths reverts to abstraction. Now we all know every name's Eurydice, briefly returned from blankness and the way back won't bear scrutiny. High voices over rapid-pulsing synthesizers intone, "without you" -- which is soothing. We prefer meta-significance: the way the clouds exchange white scraps in glory. No more wishes. No more bungalows behind car-washes painted the color of swimming pools
Reading, we are allowed to follow someone else’s train of thought as it starts off for an imaginary place. This train has been produced for us—or rather materialized and extended until it is almost nothing like the ephemeral realizations with which we’re familiar. To see words pulled one by one into existence is to intrude on a privacy of sorts. But we are familiar with the contract between spectator and performer. Now the text isn’t a train but an actress/model who takes off her school uniform piece by piece alone with the cameraman. She’s a good girl playing at being bad, all the time knowing better. She invites us to join her in that knowledge. But this is getting us nowhere.