Saturday, December 20

art mirrors

life mirrors

'Am seeing sluggish drilling, by sluggards. Not meaning insults. This is the fact. Motions are gone through. Barely minimal efforts. Cold, yes? The cold hands and nose with mucus? Thoughts on getting through, going in, hot showers, water very hot. A meal. The thoughts are drifting toward the comfort of ending. Too cold to demand the total, yes? [Gwen], too cold for [] the high level, yes?'
[Gwen]: ' It does seem pretty cold out[].'
'Ah.' Pacing back and forth with about-faces at every tenth step, []his hands behind his back, nodding to himself, clearly wishing he had a third hand so he could stroke his [] chin, pretending to ruminate. Every [time]. Essentially the same. All the older [player]s' eyes are glazed with repetition. []
'Ah.' Turns crisply toward them, looking briefly skyward. 'And when is hot? Too pretty hot for the total self on the [pitch]? The other hand of the spectrum? Ach. Is always something that is too. Master [Big Weez] who cannot quickly get behind [disc]'s descent so weight can move forvart into [catch], please tell your thinking: it is always hot or cool, yes?'
A small smile. ''s been our general observation out there[].' 'So then then so, Master [Gwen], from [Florida]'s temperance regions?'
[Gwen]: 'I guess we have to learn to adjust to conditions[], I believe is what you're saying.'
A full half-turn to face the group. 'Is what I am not saying, young [Gwen], is why you seem to give total effort of self since you begin with the clipping pictures of great [players] for your adhesive tape and walls. No? Because, privileged gentleman and boys I am saying, is always something that is too. Cold. Hot. Wet and dry. Very bright sun and you see the purple dots. Very bright hot and you have too salt. Outside is wind, the insects which like the sweat. Inside is smell of heaters, echo, being jammed in together, tarp is overclose to []line, not enough of room, [noises] loudly to distract, clunk of machines vomiting sweet cola for coins. Inside roof too low for the [hammer]. Bad lighting, so. Or outside: the bad surface. Oh no look no: [] cracks along [goal]line. Who could give the total, with [cracks]. Look here is lo[ng pitch] [short pitch]. Opponent[]s [] heckle, opponent cheats, linesman in semifinal is impaired or cheats. You hurt. You have the injury. Bad knee and back. Hurt groin area from not stretching as asked. Aches of elbow. Eyelash is in eye. The throat is sore. A too pretty girl in audience, watching. Who could play like this? Big crowd overwhelming or too small to inspire. Always something.'
His turns as he paces are crisp and used to punctuate. 'Adjust. Adjust? Stay the same. No? Is not stay the same? It is cold? It is wind? Cold and wind is the world. Outside, yes? On the [pitch] the you the player: this is not where there is cold wind. I am saying. Different world inside. World built inside cold outside world of wind breaks the wind, shelters the player, you, if you stay the same, stay inside.' Pacing gradually faster, the turns becoming pirouettic. The older [player]s stare straight ahead; some of the younger follow every move of the [disc] with wide eyes. T[C] is bent at the waist and moving his head slightly, trying to get the sweat dripping off his face to spell something out on the surface. [] is silent for two fast about-faces, standing before them, tapping his knee with the [disc]. 'Not ever I think this adjusting. To what, this adjusting? This world inside is the same, always, if you stay there. This is what we are making, no? New type citizen. Not of cold and wind outside. Citizens of this sheltering second world we are working to show you ever end, no? To make your introduction.' The [older players] translate [] into accessible language for the [younger player]s, is a big part of their assignment.
'Borders of [pitch] Mr. [Finkbot] are what.'
'[70+25] by [40] sir,' sounding hoarse and thin.
'So. Second world without cold or purple dots of bright for you is [94].8 [yards], 40 I think .2 [yards]. Yes. In that world is joy because there is shelter of something else, of purpose past sluggardly self and complaints about uncomfort. I am speaking to not just [Gwen] of the temperance world. You have a chance to occur, playing. No? To make for you this second world that is always the same: there is in this world you, and in the had a tool, there is a [disc], there is opponent with his tool[s], and always only two[], you and the other, inside the lines, with always a purpose to keep this world alive, yes?' The [disc]-motions through all this become too orchestral and intricate to describe. 'This second world inside the lines. Yes? Is this adjusting? This is not adjusting. This is not adjusting to ignore cold and wind and tired. Not ignoring “as if.” Is no cold. Is no wind. No cold wind where you occur. No? Not “adjust to conditions.” Make this second world inside the world: here there are no conditions.'
Looks around.
'So put a lid on it about the fucking cold,' says [Mankind], with his [disc] under his arm and his strangler-sized hands in his pockets, hopping a little in place.
[] is looking around. Like most [] outside popular entertainment, he gets quieter when he wants to impress or menace. [] 'If it is hard,' he says softly, hard to hear because of the rising wind, 'difficult, for you to move between the two worlds, from cold hot wind and sun to this inside place inside the lines where is always the same.' he says, seeming now to study the [disc] he holds down and out with both hands, 'it can be arranged for you gentlemen not to leave, ever here, this world inside the lines of course. You know. Can stay here until there is citizenship. Right here.' The [disc] is pointed at the spot they're standing at breathing and blotting their faces and blowing their noses. 'Can today put up Te[n]t[], for the world's shelter. Sleep bags. Meals brought to you. Never across the lines. Never leave the [pitch]. Study here. A bucket for hygienic needs. At [home] where I am privileged boy who whining about cold wind, we live inside ten[]ts for months, to learn to live inside. Very lucky days when they bring us meals. Not possible to cross a line for months of living.'
Left-hander [Trash] picks a bad moment to break wind.
[] shrugs, half-turning away from them to look off somewhere. 'Or else leave here into large external world where is cold and pain without purpose or tool, eyelash in eye and pretty girls-- not worry anymore about how to occur.' Looks around. No one is prisoner here. Who would like to expave into large world? Master [Pulse]?'
[] Eyes down.
'Mr. [Gutter], with always too co-wold to give total?'
[Gutter] studies the vasculature of the inside of his elbow with deep interest as he shakes his head. [Val Kilmer] is joggling his head around like a Raggedy-Andy-head, stretching out the neck hardware. [Val Kilmer] is notoriously tight and can't touch anything below the knee with straight legs during stretches.
'Mr. P[hun C] with always the weeping to home on the telephone?'
The twe[enty-something]-year-old says Not Me Sir several times.
'Simple,' [] shrugs, so that the upraised [disc] seems to stab at the sky. '[Cu]t,' he suggests, 'Move. Travel lightly. Occur. Be here. Not in bed or shower or over caconschteam, in the mind. Be here in total. Is nothing else. Learn. Try. Drink your green juice. Perform the [Heckman] exercises on all eight of these [pitches], please, to warm down. Mr. [Mankind], please to bring [discs]. [Throw] at your will. Use a head. You are not arms. Arm in the real [ultimate] is like wheels of vehicles. Not engine. Legs: not either. Where is where you apply for citizenship in second world Mr. Consciousness of ankle [Weez], our revenant?”
[]'Head, sir.'
'The human head, sir, if I got your thrust. Where I'm going to occur as a player. The game's two heads' one world. One world, sir.'
[] sweeps the [disc] in an ironic morrendo arc and laughs aloud:
(thanks, dfw)

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