“Terms swarm up to tempt me in the course of this description: Greek Orthodox, Romanesque, flying buttress, etc. These guessing words I find junked in my brain in deranged juxtaposition, like files randomly stuffed into cabinets by a dispirited secretary with no notion of what, if anything, might ever be usefully retrieved. Often all language seems this way: a monstrous compendium of embedded histories I’m helpless to understand. I employ it the way a dog drives a car, without grasping how the car came to exist or what makes a combustion engine possible. That is, of course, if dogs drove cars. They don’t. Yet I go around forming sentences.”
“I’m like a dog chasing cars, I wouldn’t know what to do if I caught one, you know, I just do…things.”
“Ever hear the one about that dog that spent its life chasing cars and finally caught one—and had noidea what to do with it?I’m that dog.”
“My blender has a more powerful engine than my car, but my car doesn’t make smoothies as well. I drive a Toyota Starbucks Limited Edition.”
“Where I’m from the dopeboys is the rockstars, but they can’t cop cars without seeing cop cars. I guess they want us all behind bars. I know it.”
“But humans drive the cars and decide when dogs eat and where dogs live and clearly this was something else in their power - they could find their dogs when they needed them.”