Profane's disassembling dream dream?

[Michael Bailey]

 Mark Kohut wrote:

> I will add just this to work into any discussion. "This is all there was to dream. All there ever was: the Street.
> Soon he woke, having no screwdriver, no key"...........
>

no key = no home (also, no car...)

> finds a tree growing by the seventh street light, hung all over  with
> colored balloons. On the fourth limb from the top there is a red
> balloon; he breaks it and inside is a screwdriver with a yellow
> handle. With the screwdriver he removes the screw from his stomach,
> and as soon as this happens he wakes from the dream. It is morning. He
> looks down toward his navel, the screw is gone. That twenty years'
> curse is lifted at last. Delirious with joy, he leaps out of bed, and
> his ass falls off.

this fits in with the old proverb, "if the Fu shits, wear it" and
other wise little wisdoms, as Archie Bunker called them, proverbs
about living with things that are possibly inconvenient but not
actually terminating you (also the little boy with no limbs who wished
for arms and legs and got them and got run over by a truck)(and the
girl in a wheelchair who told the boy she'd never been kissed, etc)

>   To Profane, alone in the street, it would always seem maybe he was
> looking for something too to make the fact of his own dissassembly
> plausible as that of any machine. [... skipping paragraphs] This was
> all there was to dream; all there ever was: the Street."
>

this might tie in with the "dispossessed" theme of CoL49, how people
(possibly due to the chicanery of the Masters of War et al, although
as Ben Franklin put it, we are taxed twice as much by our own
indolence) don't make enough from their endeavours to have a home, so
they make do in the street (as Crowley once put it, though, enough
people traverse the Abyss and it becomes a City, and in CoL49 those
people living in cars or up on the phone lines (like Gibson's people
living on the Golden Gate Bridge) have found a way to make the Street
a bit homelike; although copious doses of the "mead for misery"
(Joyce, FW, one of the few passages that is pretty clear to me -
"...drain the mead for misery to incur intoxication) are called for,
as shown in the opening, Suck Hour, passage





-- 
Yippy dippy dippy,
Flippy zippy zippy,
Smippy gdippy gdippy, too!
- Thomas Pynchon ("'Zo Meatman's Gone AWOL")