GR translation: the light always gets very red for them

[alice wellintown]

Oh that holy center that canot hold and is loosed upon the whole and
holy hole in the pocket of the beatle in the sea of holes in a yellow
submarine.

Every Pynchon critic has hacked away at this holy center red shift.
Molly Hite wrote a remarkable essay on it. Dwight Eddins sums them up
and draws attention to the religious in Pynchon, the orphic song and
so on. Not something that can translate in one image or motif. It is,
as Paul notes, The Fall, The Grail, Love in the western world born of
War and thus, because peace will come, doomed to slide out of our
grasps, out of our conscious conception, out of our present and into
the romantic and nostalgiac subjunctive land of IF.