You live in a constantly moving, anonymous life where you rarely, if ever, run into the same person twice. Yet you run into many people.
This city, repository, dreadnought that announces to the anonymous anyones: You are here to be forgotten. I will pull you into my wonderful sac and use your energies.
And that’s life. After all, this city is simply a series of expressions. An expression at the street level, modes of transportation, daily transaction of business, the wheeling and dealing of the parasites and scrofula, the stadium and its mobs of people, even, paradoxically the diverse modes of communication.
For the crazed and repressed here are the talk shows. For the clever and sentimental there are the newspapers or the drug of television. Nothing sums things up better than that phrase: the drug of television. The hip have their hipness and little else. It has a half-life of two years and is gone, the hip descending down to the basic characters they’ve tried to avoid.
Some of the interesting, dark matter a young writer must work his way through.
He or she who comes out with a smile, wins.
Yes, even a writer experiences a dark night of the soul when he is convinced of this: World has outstripped language and your works are impossible to do. The writer, plundered of everything he thought valuable, sits quietly in the hazy avenues and watches television provide evidence of the transmigration of souls through a series of atomic explosions in the most densely populated areas of the world while awful men and women smile and dance to words no one understands.
You’re in the pathway of people running the other direction, straight ahead with an admirable lack of reflection, captive of fears, superstitions, vulgarity; even a few being chased by their own out-of-control intelligences.
Then you’re witness to one of the unholy problems of the day: the separation between a personality’s definition of things and a soul’s definition of the same things. You witness the odd phenomena of a person who loves language at the depths of his spirit and yet flaunts it, abuses it, scorns it in the persona he shows to the world. Another man loves faith at the core of himself and yet dismisses it as a joke to the world around him. And still a third loves a woman at the depths and yet abuses that woman in every way imaginable from the very core of his personality.