Lies in complexity. Or is it simplicity? Elegance?
Keats assured us that we needed to know nothing else. It manifests itself in the certainty of belief if you know the goodness of a deity. Or it manifests itself in the satiety of the mouth as a giant Galaxy bar cancels the gruel and grind of the day you’ve just had. Perhaps it lies in the uninhibited release of a giant fart in a crowded, noisy context where no-one will hear it and no-one will trace it to you. Freedom from responsibility, if only transient.
I’m minded of the quick pan to the face and shoulders of Rod Serling as he draws on a socially acceptable cigarette and anchors the meaning of the episode we’re about to watch. I’m minded of Roy Batty (again). I’m minded of the last paragraph of The Dead by James Joyce. The time has not come for me to make my journey Westward just yet. Too many passes yet to complete. Closure. Or is it? I’m waiting for Closure 2 although I don’t think it’ll be as good. Maybe I should just buy the DVD of the first one and watch it again.