Serial Library passage July 8

8 Jul

I picture Jill with her face pushed out and her straight stringy blonde hair falling past her shoulders, telling Middleton to fuck off. I can see her laughing and babbling, like a little brook, a little stream of water traveling in one direction, never minding the curves and messy, unpredictable courses it has to take over the rocks and through the mud until it gets to the sea. The sea is death. Death is the place where the river loses its character as a river and enters the big lack of character that is a giant body of water like the sea. The sea is green, and sometimes blue, and dark, and deep, and full of creatures, like manatees, etc.

Ricky Jervais is a name. But that’s not how you spell it. It’s only a name. It isn’t spelled at all. It’s a pod of letters standing in front of a man, or a boy, or even a girl maybe. Some girls are named Ricky, is that not true?

A pod of love fell upon us with a whumpf of warm loving air hovering over us, warm loving air that spread like the lower part of a nuclear holocaust, the part we never pay attention to, the part of the nuclear cloud that spreads out around the base of the mushroom cloud and crushes everything sideways, like cars and people and buildings and pets and potted plants.

When you start to fall asleep the right things always start to happen. Like when you’re sitting on the subway, riding a long distance on the subway, and you start to fall asleep, all the right things start to happen, and then your head snaps up and all in a single instant the wrong things start to happen and you fear that you have missed your stop. What have people seen in your face as you were falling asleep? It is the fallen face that shows most obviously who you are and makes you vulnerable to theft, murder and all the bad things that happen at the bottom end of a movie, or a book, the place where we run out of imagination, so that all we can do now is create another explosion of death among our characters. Our characters are our friends, our only friends, yet we kill them so carelessly. How could anyone care any less?

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