Attempting to find in motion that which is lost in space...

Tom: I didn't go to the moon, I went much further- for time is the longest distance between two places. Not long after that I was fired for writing a poem on the lid of a shoe-box. I left Saint Louis. I descended the steps of this fire escape for the last time and followed, from then on, in my father's footsteps, attempeting to find in motion what was lost in space. I traveled around a great deal. The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass. Perhaps I am walking along a street at night, in some strange city before I have found companions. I pass a lighted window of a shope where perfume is sold. The window is filled with pieces of colored glass, tiny transparent bottles in a delicate colors, like bits of a shattered rainbow. Then all at once my sister touches my shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes... I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger- anything...

Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie (New York: Penguin, 1966) 114-115.

(Does anyone remember how to cite the paperback edition of a book (or any edition of a book, come to think of it)? Technically the copyright of the above is 1945, but the papercopy I'm holding in my lap was published during the 60's...)


Oh TASPers! TASPers! Brothers and sisters! The above quote struck me, though I cannot condone all of its sentiments (no analogy being perfect, alas): for example, I haven't turned to cigarettes (yet). At any rate, I wish you were here, the British squirrels send their salutations, e-t-c-dot. A fuller update shall arrive as soon as I find myself within striking distance of a wireless portal, away from the Lynn-like glares of the local librarians (who see "blog" and read "spawn of Satan").

Vous me manquez.