“Lives rush towards any semblance of higher order. Some structure would make all the world worthwhile for them. We can build solutions for our problems; stack stories on top of each other, design parking facilities to protect vehicles meant to transport us faster. Alas, not every vicarious story-child can except such a consummation, and so many are left undone.
On the window sill, the China cat hovers over what we accept as our everyday vista. Worry not over the tender path of love or when one body transposes over another. These are elements, and to science they belong. Letting science take care of it, we allow them to be. Magnets account for attraction; gravity lords it under all. Fresh from flying around in an airplane, one will grow and change in some fashion, whether or not it is the statement. What do you stand for.
Fairwagons are grounded at the end of our street. Once again, these minstrels have returned. The children start. Somehow it has changed. In the heat of the breeze that goes from East to West through our passway come new sounds, little bites we'll scratch over in the dawn. For scene, this comes easier than others. Dirt-stained, the curious disperse. What substitute is there for minutes of your time? A caravan, like a verse against the long black night, where every song is another light? '94? I remember form, start to finish. And there, without missing a beat, autumn, the new Red Krayola album. Welcome one and all to another collection. Let them live alongside in bits and pleces for the likes of man to squabble over. A more than simple story is tantamount to a stack of turtles and all that they survey.”
- Rian Murphy, 1994
