3.
Television
Drood’s
stomach sits like a small pet in his lap. There is a hollow appetite.
Edwin raises his head. Like a drowsing watchdog. He rubs his groin.
The mechanics of imagination resonate in his head. Like an old rusted
out nineteenth century machine. The speculation of pornography. The
clash of body parts. Sheila’s voice. Sweet, assured, strong,
perfectly articulate. Trousers. Passion. The terrible ache of his
lust. A cup of good one-liners. The self is a mob of influences. A
compilation of urban nightmares. The late Twentieth Century was
populated by disembodied souls. Imprisoned in straw men. Talking to
each other like a convention of stand-up comics breaking in new
material. The Jungian consciousness is television. God sends angels
to do his bidding. The devil sends commercials.
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The Mystery of Edwin Drood
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