R. L. Swihart
Words. Symbols. Sums. What fraction of reality gets into them?
The commerce of the hordes, he thinks. The earth-dwellers.
Those with the hubristic screech and scrawl.
Heart is playing at the Hollywood Bowl tonight (Crazy on You). He is tooling
about trying to get the right combination of nibbles and bits: Pinot noir,
brie, fresh figs, etc. Leaving TJ’s, he flinches, then grabs a few plastic
knives and forks from their holsters on the wall. Sorry, he thinks.
We’ve done this to ourselves. We’re doing it. Stopping
isn’t an option.