Riverrun

A monstrously long lumbering sentence.
  June 30, 2002

—a trick straight out of a James Joyce book, yes it is (or perhaps not; who am I to make a claim like this after only a perfunctory glance at his works (can you blame me, knowing that I started with Finnegan’s Wake?)); talking about factories in one monstrously long lumbering sentence (note the use of alliteration, amigo) occasionally interrupted by annoying parenthetical remarks about its structural features; I’ll have to cheat, of course, and sprinkle semicolons here and there, rolling multiple sentences into one in a somewhat forced manner but this is a case of form dictating substance and there’s something to be said about that, only I don’t know what, and whatever it is it doesn’t have one whit to do with factories, aye, factories that fascinate me today because I realized suddenly that from their humble beginnings, they grow to be something infinitely more than originally intended; at inception merely places of conjunction of man and machine they later become places, not of subjugation of man to machine as some said, but of the two’s merger into a temporary cyborg, flesh with circuits hanging outside instead of embedded in the gut; places that from walls of concrete and patches of withered grass somehow become symbols of various things to various people and inspire me to write experimental prose that loops into itself with no beginning and no end, meanings slightly changing depending on which part of the loop you start from, which I know is—

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