The Bus Ride

It's terribly easy to close the book on everyone and everything I've ever met, and I know because I do it perhaps too often (too often as I've not even any phoney authority or particularly agreeable quality to stand on). Though, in any case, I suppose this matters little as everyone continues in their own way as never ending stories as long as I'm around. But where's the fun in reading the same dull passage over and over again? Maybe it's the readers fault, what do you think?

Just yesterday, on the bus, she's telling me about her recent curiosity with Who Framed Roger Rabbit, yup, no kidding. .. Who cares I'm thinking and maybe it falls out of my mouth because I'm quick to be informed that she has it on very reliable information that Roger Rabbit is, in fact, a fantastic film. You see, so I'm told, the film students are watching it.

Aha, there's the reason behind the tone. My opinion on Roger Rabbit has been relegated to the banal mental space of the ignorant and uniformed. Shut out by the silvered painted gates on university crescent...

And I thought briefly of the warning the Tibetans speak into the ears of the dead, 'beware of the alluring light of the jealous gods, do not enter there.' But this just spins me around, now I need the warning.... and anyway, the point of the bus ride conversation, we had said as much, was to be straight about things.

So I asked her what she thought the lopsided heave metal sculpture lying along Freedman was all about.

"Oh, just some industrial installation."

And I've given up on life she said, I once heard her whisper across the room. While she remains correct, and I'm embarassed most days because of it, I haven't died, you know, keeled over, yet.