Recent books about avant-garde film critic Jonas Mekas.Read More
At their king’s behest, four grizzled blind men approach an unidentified object. He warns them that it has lain forgotten in an unforgiving place, and is a putrid, clammy thing. They nod, not daring to remind the king which sense they lack. Standing almost nine feet tall, the object forces each man to claim his own portion.
The first man, at the object’s rear, says, “It has a knobby trunk, out of which smooth, hollow tubes run. It must be a sculpture.” Caressing its top, the second man partially agrees. “A sculpture yes, but not an object. It is a soldier, wearing a large helmet, pocked and ridged with the scars of battle.” The third man, who’s been kneeling, waves a finger. “But it is long and jagged, like the skeleton of some legendary beast.” The king smiles. The fourth man does not. He has the misfortune of standing directly in front of the thing. Before he can speak, it wraps a pair of six-fingered claws around his head. The other men hear hissing before hot blood splashes them.Read More