Kevin BayComment

09 * 15 * 2017

Kevin BayComment
09 * 15 * 2017

In and out of thinking about order: imposed order, oppressive order, ignored order, disorder. The shape of human order and when it mimics natural order. What is the natural order of turbulence? How do neurochemical transport systems order themselves while waiting for the job--like, park it and go get a coffee? And then there's this: beating the steering wheels of my automobiles--rumbling engine turned by controlled explosions under the hood, speed regulated by slamming one element into another, navigation by a crude system of wheels and levers, and all of it hidden beneath a dozen curves of painted plastic--because there's nowhere to park in my neighborhood. . . .

 . . . and then I shoot across the air for work to another piece of earth. And the airplane taxis to something vaguely Mandelbrot. Out of an aluminum tube I deplane into a glass-walled terminal, step onto a moving belt that carries me to a monorail train that glides above ground to another terminal with a loop of belt that ejects my luggage. And from there into a rental car and onto the road, and through the clover that connects to the interstate highway system. And soon I'm pulling up to the hotel. A bellman opens my door. "Checking in? Right this way, sir." Into a lobby where a key is handed over with numbers written on it. I press a button with an upward arrow--it illuminates green; a memory of receiving a sucker through the pneumatic tube at the drive-through bank window with my mother, the sun blazing through the grassy sugar lollipop. Then two doors slide apart before me and close after I enter, and I am lifted a few hundred feet up a narrow shaft in under a minute. The doors slide apart and I walk and turn many corners of a hallway, reaching a door with my numbers. My key opens the door; I enter the object of air conditioning that is to be my temporary home. I walk in and put my luggage aside and head to the curtain-covered window. I draw the curtains. Apart.

And I see an empty parking lot.

And for the next seven days, not once do I see a single car park in this lot.