ANNOTATED MISANTHROPE
One pile of rags at the doorway, five bales of
paper, wired, at the door. Don't trip, be careful.
The lonesome doorbell rings - the elevator light
comes on. Four floors up, the loft is busy; men with
buckets and a hammer wired to speed. It was Bellow,
in Augie March, who said, 'there's a dark Westminster
of a time when a multitude of objects cannot be clear;
they're too dense and there's an island rain...'
-
Now some mischevious tyrant has the doppleganger of
a black angel parading with apologies, trying to sing
the air to make amends. I am more sure of walking to
125th street than I am of believing him. Fifteen wrinkled
hambones, three letters of library reference, and a rental
car to Elmira, all my own. The oldest movie I've ever seen
is playing on a tissue'd screen - some ancient film about
babies being slaughtered by a man in a bib. I forget the
rest, not sure I've seen what I think I've seen. You ask the
questions, I'll fail the test. The lonesome doorbell rings.
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