3066.THE JACKAL AT SATURDAY

THE JACKAL AT SATURDAY

'One swarm warming,' the old sign said -
it read like a child's writing on a kindergarten
blackboard chalkface. Something about bees.
-
For myself, I passed it right by. Who's to care
about such things except the science-mind, and
what it brings? Certainly not for me, and not
myself at all. I went for the higher wall.
-
Entering the artist's lobby, I knelt for a
moment in some awesome mental prayer -
all those lines and colors, imagined, even as
my imagined kneeling felt. I genuflect to really
nothing at all. And, to be sure, I rather dislike
museums and galleries and all that collection
stuff : post-dated warnings on whitewashed
walls. What is art anyway, but what someone
else calls it for profit and motive? Never see
a dime of anything for all it's worth.
-
Jangled nerves suspicious and tight -
the man with the special jacket tries to
impress. No, not really, already he knows
his place : some stupid, cloying walkie-talkie
guard at pace; slowly turning as he walks.
-
'This was once a cutting edge of stated design.'
Blah, blah on that. Now the lights go out.
The lights go out at 6, all over the entire city.
It is December 22, and getting very dark.