Xcp:  Streetnotes: Spring  2005
Streetnotes Spring 2005 xcp

 
 
Ramsey Scott
 

On Visiting the Factory
for Memory Frames


 
 
 
 
 

 
 


The bus to the factory will be crowded with passengers sneezing and shuffling through plastic bags loaded with amorphous objects of uncertain origin.  Knitting fills their time; you’re better off watching the side roads that parallel the freeway for trucks that kick up dust.  In order to survive a bus ride of any distance you must detach yourself from contemporary transportation expectations.  A bus transports its passengers retroactively, returning to the concept of movement as a tenuous group endeavor.  You may arrive safely, but never on time, never without discomfort, a spectator to breakdowns. Near the filling station, a cardboard snowman waits.  Winter without moisture, a beer can on the side of the road, frigid intransigence, gasoline smell, cigarettes and paint thinner.  A man pushing a shopping cart hobbles past.  He carries a sign:

MINISTERS OF FLAT IGNORANCE TIRE FORSHORTENED TROPICS

On the way to a place such as the factory, one should reflect abstractly: incidents catalyze narrative; where memory enters can’t be mapped, it’s a question of where things go wrong, and it’s always earlier, before this or that; whenever someone says “used to,” suggesting that certain events repeated in the past, these events happened once at most.  Example: remember when we used to drink egg creams and track dragon flies?  At one time, great Venetian statisticians tracked patterns with stones piled in courtyards.  You’ll notice there has been no mention of the kid who played triangle in music class.  On the way to the factory no one talks besides the driver, and he talks incessantly. How to be stupid, he says to a passing car.  To you I’m something small.  To the yeast that hasn’t begun to ferment, to the Indian diarchy of 1919-1935, to the clouds named cirrostratus, cirrocumulus, cirrus, he muses.  You can’t measure time by your nostrils, they burn and they burn, and the seat next to you will fill with someone near Toledo. 

Mention that you’re familiar with the book he or she reads.  It’s called Toward a Strange Meeting: Directions for Mechanical Inventions, and the first chapter covers Eritrean copyright laws in great detail.  The following directives may be nothing to you.  Personally, the driver says, I’m reminded of Arnold Weintraub’s collection of medieval hauberks.  The driver will tell you (and he knows better than anyone) to begin with nothing whatsoever but your enthusiasm for numbers and correct answers.  It’s natural not to have such enthusiasm; still, you can try to create it by thinking of consonants like mountains or virtues praised by Plato.  Next, consider the fact that such touchstones of thought are never very far removed from their geometrical equivalents realized by computer simulations of neurological topographies.  Intrigued?  Very good. 

Incidentally, this model corresponds to the theory of autonomic rule in a nutshell.  Functionalize Hanging Gardens as a conceptual irrigation unit: number of thoughts equals depth of root source as aquatic presence.  Arnold Weintraub’s compositions for the harmonium.  Think irrupt, think injunction.  Stand on one foot.  Imagine: this too Napoleon did, though he wore different boots and his pants puffed at the thighs.  Cough when anyone says “interesting” or “that’s true.”  Make a list called contractions; include half-integers, mathematical indulgences, and overdoses.  Always include rhubarb jam.  When you arrive at the factory gate, apologize: I’m sorry for my dirty shoes.  I’m sorry for things I bought at the store. I’m sorry for developing equatorial photographs, I’m sorry for drinking too much and forgetting your birthday.  The gate’s hasps and latches fasten and unfasten according to the operator’s glottic fluctuations.  Games and procedures, mistaken theories and the malnourishment of perception, phantasms of technological advancement, these features adhere less to the gate than to the surrounding environs. 

The factory’s hazards, depicted in warning posters tacked to brick walls, navigate an accident compendium: rectangular appendages broken by gigantic pinwheels, mechanical canines and bicuspids tearing into linear digits, rotating tetrahedrons crushing cylindrical limbs.  Maintain balance by holding both rails as you pass over the pedestrian bridge leading to the central assembly; it’s here that ministers process your frames.  Proceed confidently, bring offerings in whatever form, and when you’ve placed your order withdraw to the waiting room.  Stained glass windows, a sense of vertical force; the waiting room will invoke the heron’s broad arc, the ornithic monumentality that frames memory.  Spend time here, not because your order will reach you, but because it’s here that you’ll recognize you already possess whatever you’ve come to collect.  Board the next bus home, and next time bring your knitting.



  (c)Scott 2005


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