HELP!

[Terrance]

Wonderful, but Terence doesn't drive. He's probably walking through
Grand Central to catch the subway up town when he sees Tom Waits in a
wheel chair. 

Making a movie, Tom? 

Naaaa, I' watcha call a moral trafick light. 
You see, I remind the working class that their still working class.
Don't look at me. Just toss a buck in my direction. I keep them from
tossing their bosses of the deck. 

"Vincent A. Maeder" wrote:
> 
> That poor brain out on the street corner, blind without its eyes, deaf
> without its ears, tapping the ground with its rusty can, medulla
> sweating in the heat, begging the passersby with that hollow cranial
> voice, "Alms, alms for the poor brain."
> 
> T walks past, finished for the day from the latest roof, looks at this
> now carmelized mess sitting on the sidewalk and says, in a polite voice,
> "What do you mean?"
> 
> Silence.
> 
> Terrance turns toward his car--some 1996 Camry LE, no doubt--but that
> voice freezing him to the spot, a chill up his spine which is an odd
> feeling in this pressing heat, a voice that echoes in his head...
> 
> All the brain can say, "The construct of self that is created by the
> mechanical mess inside your head has attempted to press the edges of
> actuality into a coherent POV, a narration of life processed by the
> gifts of your cranial components, a dendritical riff on consciousness,
> by the very structure of your neurons, man!  It is your brain's attempt
> to make sense of a world that makes no sense.  And so it comes round to
> that Descartes fella sitting there coughing up blood, wondering if he
> has pushed back the edges of his uncertainty.  Indeed, it is the brain
> that interprets and conjectures and concludes based on a series of
> inputs taken entirely by the random position and attitude of your very
> self, a position and attitude which cannot be duplicated even by your
> clone having, as all physical manifestations must, to occupy a different
> 'space' than your self."
> 
> Terrance turns slow, mouth a bit agape, eyes a bit wide, nostrils
> flaring.
> 
> "Alms, sir, alms for the poor brain."
> 
> V.  Sorry for the POV switcheroo, just practicing...
> 
> -----Original Message-----
> From: owner-pynchon-l at waste.org [mailto:owner-pynchon-l at waste.org] On
> Behalf Of David Morris
> Sent: Friday, June 06, 2003 8:59 AM
> To: Terrance
> Cc: pynchon-l at waste.org
> Subject: Re: HELP!
> 
> --- Terrance <lycidas2 at earthlink.net> wrote:
> >
> >
> > "All writing is indeed representation, which means
> > all writing is fictional, ie a construct."
> >
> >
> > What is Paul N  saying here?
> 
> Following the words exactly he's saying that all:
> 
> 1.  All writing is fiction.
> 2.  All constructs are fiction.
> 3.  Constructs = fiction.
> 
> Which is all about KNOWING.
> 
> But is is extremely reductive.  So reductive that it has almost no
> value.
> 
> David Morris
> 
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