Friday, January 8, 2016

Why did Thomas Pynchon’s chicken cross the road?

Because (from the chicken’s point of view, this insight’s blind spot a constant nagging emptiness,  presque vu, its blank frames neatly edited from consciousness, just a snip of the old Movieola, nothing to it, folks in the Editor’s well-practiced hands) They wanted him to, and so, of course, he does, bawk, bawk. End of story, but it kinda ducks the question, dontcha think? IT’S OUR JOB TO THINK, MR. CHICKEN. Sure, but why do They want him to cross the road, this feeder line to I-9 here, favorite shortcut of those knights of the road, America’s Truck Drivers, its rush of traffic a blur of whitenoise, not a marked Chicken Crossing, not exactly safe, making this particular chicken kinda reluctant to actually CHICKENS DON’T GET TO ASK THE QUESTIONS, WE DO. Yeah, aaaand like it says in that King Chicken Bible, “The secret things belong unto the LORD our God,” or in this case, Them. Yeah, but. YOU’RE A CHICKEN. STOP ASKING QUESTIONS. CROSS THE ROAD. So he does, looking both ways first (futile gesture, he knows) then stepping out, this is one small step for chicken, bobbing his cute little Road Island Red head as he chickenwalks onward, whitenoise getting louder, those physics-defying knights errants in their 18-wheelers whipping by in both lanes, all hepped up on white crosses these here knights, but he’s made it this far, huh, BLATTTTTT, bawwwwwk, blast of the old air horn from Sir Medical Waste Transport Solutions, off the road you fucking chicken aaand still the brave little chicken advances, why lookee here, there’s the point of no return! wow, he’s still alive, odds getting better and better, another step, traffic noise a roaring in his head, getting louder now kinda like a waterfall, even louder, impossibly don’t stop the wall of sound reaches and passes a perceptual threshold, but the chicken keeps going, just one more step, just

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