(A friend sends this picture:)
(And the corresponding Green Eyes fragment is?)
Chapter 43 --- A surgical strike into semantic space
"Uhh huuh," he says, sipping his whiskey. "So you want a video installation?"
"In a sense."
"On your own premises."
"Yes."
"You won't have much traffic in your apartment."
"Should I?"
"Perhaps you should contact the MoMa for your work."
“You mean the Museum of Modern Art?”
“Yes, they have more traffic. In New York City.”
"I'm not famous enough," I say.
"I worked in Manhattan, once had sex with the secretary of the director. Of the MoMa. Twice. Three times. My-ooh-my. These people know what they are doing. Four times."
"Hiring secretaries?"
"Hiring secretaries." He smacks his lips, swipes his unruly black hair with his fingers. "A video installation, that could be challenging."
"You are the man."
"In a sense."
"On your own premises."
"Yes."
"You won't have much traffic in your apartment."
"Should I?"
"Perhaps you should contact the MoMa for your work."
“You mean the Museum of Modern Art?”
“Yes, they have more traffic. In New York City.”
"I'm not famous enough," I say.
"I worked in Manhattan, once had sex with the secretary of the director. Of the MoMa. Twice. Three times. My-ooh-my. These people know what they are doing. Four times."
"Hiring secretaries?"
"Hiring secretaries." He smacks his lips, swipes his unruly black hair with his fingers. "A video installation, that could be challenging."
"You are the man."
"Thank you," he says and turns to his Startrek display wall that we've mentioned earlier. He flips one of the screens with a remote control and is on the internet, already surfing from page to page: "Video installations, invented by the famous Nam June Paik from Korea, who also invented the expression Information Highway. Video installations, today ubiquitous and visible in a range of environments...the only requirements are electricity and darkness..." he pensively quotes a Wikipedia page. "You do have electricity in your apartment, don't you?"
"Yes," I say.
"And darkness, how much darkness do you have?"
"Enough."
"Enough enough, or just enough?"
He appears to insist on an answer.
"Just enough," I deflect. He swirls the ice cubes in his glass, resumes control of the whiskey bottle, makes arrangements for topping up my glass. "Light isn't like booze, you know," he goes, and halts, as if he's waiting for something to click.
"Analogies break down all the time," I reply.
"It's a pity," he says, “somebody should do something about analogies. You know, the bottle is half empty, it doesn't mean it's half-full."
(I will lose this, I know.)
"My God, and you are a college professor,” he continues, “If you have enough darkness, baby, will you have enough light?"
I hand him the half-empty glass.
"Or do we need to install special lightning?"
"I don't know."
"Should they be visible, the additional lights, or invisible?" A smile slides across his face like the beam of a torch.
He hands the glass back to me.
"You are aware of the pecuniary implications?" he adds.
"Yes," I say.
"And darkness, how much darkness do you have?"
"Enough."
"Enough enough, or just enough?"
He appears to insist on an answer.
"Just enough," I deflect. He swirls the ice cubes in his glass, resumes control of the whiskey bottle, makes arrangements for topping up my glass. "Light isn't like booze, you know," he goes, and halts, as if he's waiting for something to click.
"Analogies break down all the time," I reply.
"It's a pity," he says, “somebody should do something about analogies. You know, the bottle is half empty, it doesn't mean it's half-full."
(I will lose this, I know.)
"My God, and you are a college professor,” he continues, “If you have enough darkness, baby, will you have enough light?"
I hand him the half-empty glass.
"Or do we need to install special lightning?"
"I don't know."
"Should they be visible, the additional lights, or invisible?" A smile slides across his face like the beam of a torch.
He hands the glass back to me.
"You are aware of the pecuniary implications?" he adds.
[...]
"You do a lot of internet dating?" I ask.
"In the past I didn't have to," he replies, "and in the future she won't let me, my wife. And in between it’s just one moment in time.” He raises his hand. “Watch out.” He presses his thumb against his ring finger. “Now,” he says, and snaps. “That was the moment. Life’s over now.”
"You love your wife?"
"Love's like an electronic bracelet."
"Analogies brake down somewhere," I say.
"My only hope," he says.
"You do a lot of internet dating?" I ask.
"In the past I didn't have to," he replies, "and in the future she won't let me, my wife. And in between it’s just one moment in time.” He raises his hand. “Watch out.” He presses his thumb against his ring finger. “Now,” he says, and snaps. “That was the moment. Life’s over now.”
"You love your wife?"
"Love's like an electronic bracelet."
"Analogies brake down somewhere," I say.
"My only hope," he says.
No comments:
Post a Comment