Best moment of the day so far was just now, watching a barge go by slowly down the river, pushed not pulled by a yellow tug name of “Rossisle,” loaded with three shapely mountains of Ross Island earth: first a very conical dark brown dirt mound, then a pale gray ridge or fell of gravel, and a darker gray range of sand—all of about the same height, like an ideal landscape, three mountains like three kings changing aspects as they passed, and seeming of their own mysterious wills to move as one and pull their golden caboose behind them. My ear itches and my toe hurts and I drank too much coffee and I have a Tennyson poem stuck in my head and also a Nirvana song. It is immense. Low broad tree full of yellow apples getting rained on. It is a fine tangled knot of interconnected ideas, bits of history, but too much is vague and built on equations that don’t add up. “Arts and Entertainment” in a newspaper or “Art Saves Lives” on a bumper sticker. It’s three movies’ worth of nonstop action and amnesia!
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