Page 80 - The Myth and the Moment

Evening

what all these kids are doing: razing their tablets with horse
tranquilizers and amphetamines. Denied the proper philosophical
detachment, the terrible knowledge of thermonuclear apocalypse
leaves them wishing for the obliteration of memory. That is the
legacy of the Sixties: awaken the public’s sleeping conscience, then
flop, fumble, blow it; get corrupted, disillusioned, co-opted, and
exiled. Ah, just a bad dream, sighs the country, and rolls over for
another century of shut-eye. But now the germ of an idea has been
planted: the whole world could go up in smoke, down in defeat, and
there’s nothing we can do about it.
Damn! That son-of-a-bitch almost ran me down in the crosswalk!
Got to keep my temper down. Fact is, people really are more violent
than the police; more of them, greater range of types and situations;
unknown stimuli to murder, weapons not limited to standard issue
night-stick, cattle-prod, and revolver. Get in an argument with your
fellow-citizen these days, and he’s likely to pull a pocket-knife or a
sawed-off shotgun or a baseball bat and kill you. What does that
mean, Nate? You on the side of the Men in Blue? No, it’s too late to
take sides in the dialectic of disaster. Gak, the air’s foul; must be the
inversion layer, cold air from the ocean pushing down hot air from
the desert. Didn’t the Indians call this the Valley of Smoke? Romans
did themselves in with lead pipes, drinking their doom; we’ve put it
out in the air, for everyone to breathe. Back in the Forties, before the
cars totally took over, a night like this would be an opportunity to
stroll around the neighborhood, gazing at the constellations through
the telephone wires. I suppose the laws requiring smog devices on
passenger cars have cut the pollution down a little. But it’s just
another tax on the middle class: diesel engines are exempt, so the
poor riding buses and the rich driving Mercedes can continue to pour
tons of greasy smoke into the air with impunity. Stupid government.
The quick buck, liability ducked with phony bankruptcies, public
indifference... Ah, what’s the use?
This gets me nowhere. Already in a jam. If I can’t keep cool and
use my head, this is going to turn out badly. I can recreate The Myth
and the Moment from memory; might not be the same. Might be better.
Nah, dream on, Nathan: any copy is worse than its original, even
when the same hand does both. Inspiration will not strike as often,
felicitous turns of phrase will not occur. Bitterness will poison the

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