Wednesday, August 3, 2011
“A few people were there, and a couple of girls, the bowling-alley light, harsh and shadowless, setting them in clattering and crashing space precisely. The light of bowling alleys can be proven romantic, though the steps of the proof and its final flourish may be too simple to be given credence… But what are the steps of the proof that inevitably concludes that there are no winter wonderlands here, no deep purple, falling or otherwise, no stardust or star eyes or sleigh bells or open fires or garden walls or angels singing? Shall we accept the conclusions of such proof without insisting on a clarification of its steps; or, at the very least, a dry martini? And although it may be proved that the light of bowling alleys are romantic, it must be made clear that those bowling alleys are now…here in this vicinity, brother! And if Cheech and Nickie marry Annette and Inez, that will in no way enable those bowling alleys to appear. Nor will it preclude the vomiting of black blood by old men, dying in little pieces from bad food, bad whiskey, bad luck and humiliation, their hearts more or less broken; nor will ecstatic couplings improve the ratio of tapioca to semen in reprehensible masculine dreams, dreams in which young women are treated with the utmost disrespect, ruthlessly undressed, and spoken to in language not fit for the barracks, and there isn’t much not fit for a barracks, and all this carried out within the very dreamwork itself! A person could die from embarrassment!” Gilbert Sorrentino, Little Casino.
Posted at 10:09 PM

Notes