Tiny
transparent irregular lenses on a glass sheet suggest rain drops on a
windowpane. Their nondescript dribbling images hold your eyes steady
until you envision Salvador Dali's drooping watches so clearly depicted
in his painting "The Persistence of Memory."
The
singular photograph above these lines of black print works a crystal
magic on the brain of at least one beholder. You yourself can look at
each raindrop and see how it compares with each one of the other drops
held on the glass rather like children attending a class in school. You
see the similarities, such as each drop is almost entirely H2O in
liquid form - and such as each one is a lens you can look through and
see small things larger than in real life.
You
can also observe differences in the shapes of individual splatters and
regard these differences as trifles - or as immensities - depending on
your point of view and your mood at this moment in time.
Still
looking through the pictorial windowpane and beyond its rain-spatters
you see the falling waters and the distant streets, buildings, schools
filled with silent children busily reading, writing, or listening to
tapes or audiobooks, or talking computers and their loquacious and
domineering teacher. All the while large motorized trucks - those
mechanical dinosaurs of our Koyaanisqatsi age - keep roaring and rushing
past along the slick noisy pavements.
The
reflective clear water spots on the photo-glass remind you of these and
other numinous essences. Then you suddenly notice the purplish sky
overhead as seen from a balloon floating two miles above the
precipitating clouds that thirty minutes before made contact with the
windowpane and started the sequence of events being described here.
And
then, all of a sudden your active son-of-a-gun-of-a-mind shoots itself
off in other directions, as well, even into other dimensions of
miniscule immensity.
As you keep
on and on looking into the photo, do you ever get through to the
picture? Do you stop and look at each beady eye looking back at you
from the rain-studded glass? Do you bend your own watches and click off
the psycho-babbling memorial voice that keeps rambling on and on inside
of your thinking, talking, or writing head?
And
son-of-a-gun whatever can be done when that iron-hard hand of
clock-time comes crashing through the glass and you feel stricken and
terminally cut down and crestfallen like that dismal bemangled ghostly
white brainfall of a crushed head near the bottom of Dali's famous
painting - the separated once well-oiled and otherwise adorned and
respected head that is now almost totally sucked empty by a
still-ticking silver-haired sharksucker that in Salvador's dream looks
more like an old man's partially-melted but still parasitic mechanical
pocket-watch?
---------------------------
About John L. Waters
I
worked as a professional free-lance lyricist in Hollywood from 1969
until 1977. It was there I met the two composers with whom I wrote
eight songs which were published. I became ill with an acute respiratory
disorder. I left the Los Angeles area in 1977 and worked out my
self-healing method.
Since January 2000 I've
been attending Humboldt State University in the over-sixty program. I've
been doing independent research. I have a large number of letters,
articles, poems, graphic designs, musical pieces, and songs.
To obtain more information, go to:
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