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Simplexity and Art

Processing.... processing.   Aegypt Cycle read and still..... processing.  Does structure always imply something more than itself?  Does it lend confidence to the idea that the perpetrator of it knows far more than he reveals?  Ah, we seem to say, if we study this structure the profound underpinnings will reveal themselves to us.  But then, as Wolfram shows with his "New Science," very complex and deep structures can be built from very mechanistic and simple formulae.  Cellular Automata.  In books, simple things lead to other things. Complexity ensues. This easy move from simple to complex we might call "simplexity."  The journey may not even be premeditated, but the effect, if done correctly, with proper stops to smell proper roses,  is that everything seems inevitable-- and then,  for art's sake, for pure poetry, some inevitabiliy is deftly evaded-- and gentlemen-- hats off, a genius!! 

My preference for Great Art is that it should come at the end of long journeys, as a final, unexpected, noninevitable, sweet distillation of experience-- a blissful reparation for that suffered.  Of course, you don't always get what you want..... too few Proust's.

I still want something more from the Aegypt Cycle, but what?  Not necessarily another volume.  Maybe I am just working up to a re-read? Or maybe, an urge to respond with my own, possibly unrelated, counter story?  Too soon to tell.  But the tale abides with me still.

I have no idea what Freud would have to say about me  alluding to Lew Wallace's dedication to his wife "who abides with me [him] still" in  Ben Hur?

Maybe when I die they will find books whole in my guts.... In fact I am certain of it if I don't get them out soon enough....
Cydonia photo: ESA

This is the journal of David Ross
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