What’s In Your Cave?

I usually feel bad leaving a bookstore after a lot of browsing without buying something. So, last time went to a Russian bookstore looking for Zemfira cds, but found no new ones. Fulfilling my obligation to the bookseller I bought a book by Tatiana Tolstaya, one of the few missing from my library. It was one of those – a cover tastefully designed by Tema Lebedev, and inside a mixture of the good short stories from “On The Golden Porch” bitter recent editorials/rants.

I was reading this book on the train this morning, and one of the new “stories” wasn’t even a story – it was an introduction to another writer’s book. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, I thought, but continued reading. I was rewarded as there was one interesting tidbit there – a new-agey psychological experiment .

Basically it goes like this: you close your eyes and try to imagine yourself going down stairs until you see a dark forest. In the forest you see a river which you need to cross to get to a cave. You look inside the cave and find an object. That object symbolizes something or other about you. Tatiana Tolstaya described finding a bone and the author for whose book she wrote the introduction found a lump of coal.

No time like the present, no place like the stainless steel worm. I closed my eyes and imagined myself quickly going down a dark spiral staircase, then arriving at a dark underground forest. Turning around, away from the forest, I found a river and a boat waiting for me. The boat deposited me straight at the mouth of the cave. The object that I found there first was an adjustable wrench. Right under it was a set of lineman’s pliers.

And now for a dose of useless trivia. It’s interesting to note that I was incorrectly thinking of the wrench in question as of “monkey wrench”. A monkey wrench is an older type not used much, and is called so after it’s inventor, “Charles Moncky, […] (who) sold his patent for $2,000, and invested the money in a house in Williamsburg, Kings County, N.Y., where he afterward lived.” A wise investment I might add – houses in that Brooklyn neighborhood are way out of reach these days.

The wrench that I was thinking of is properly known as a “crescent wrench” or a “bulldog wrench”. In Russia I remember it being referred to as “French wrench”.

I guess my choice of symbols is pretty clear – they are engineering tools. Good for plumbing and electrical work – and what’s closer to that than programming?

I don’t know about coal, but the Tolstaya’s bone is pretty much clear to me. She has a bone to pick. A rather nasty essay that she wrote about America’s glorification of Mickey Mouse made it pretty clear to me. She drove a point that most Americans think of Mickey Mouse as of an absolute good. I guess she never looked him up in a dictionary.

The Worm Oroborous

I was reading Barrington J. Bayley’s The Knights of the Limits which Amazon in its wisdom recommended for my consumption. The title story is about space travelers from a universe which inhabitants move in patterns through discrete points in space, like chess pieces.

This got me to think – 5 days a week a stainless steel worm moves me in a roughly L shaped pattern, from one tower into another, from one island onto another. And in both towers there are two computer screens and a chair. The two Ls form a Kekule snake, the Worm Oroborous.

I like to think that I am a Knight, but I am really a Pawn.

Poetry in Motion

Came up with this during my morning subway ride:

Magnetic flux in a white glass tube
Bounces greenish light
From stainless steel guts
Of a stainless steel worm
That travels beneath the waves.

An empty Greek cup
That held a drink
Of infusion of coffee beans
Is clenched in a hand of a woman who sleeps
Not seeing any dreams.

A holy book in hands of a man
Holds a promise of mystical lore
Wrapping words of wise men
Of time gone by
Around holier word of fore.

A cat in a box
With plastic doors
Looks outside with fear.
The stainless steel worm
Makes no sense
To a being with claws and hair.

Keys in a clip
On a belt of a man
In a jacket of steely-blue cloth
Can open doors
In a tower of grey
Containing amazing wealth.

A plastic red sack
With symbols of black
Carries cheap and expensive treats
That smell of a place
That is far, far away
Not connected by rails.

The ceramic song
Of passing stops
A swirling mosaic sets
In the minds of passengers riding the worm
That eats the electric thread.