-when the apparatus works-

As we continue toward the dust

and rubble left to them by the quake,
Part’s “Spiegel im Spiegel”

for Violin and Piano is heard

over the silent hubbub of turn-

of-the-century City life,

filmed while moving slowly forward on the trolly-

tracks of San Francisco, long before Google

and its composition: “Street View for Clicks

Cursor and Mechanisms” takes us into the here and now,— 

and 2:34 into the grey, diminishing images, off to the right,

a gentleman is nearly run-over by an automobile.

As we listen to this music, and look at the bustling

men, women and kids actively going about

their daytime routines, the grey

men in slim-fitting suits and hatted,
the women clothed with an armor's weight
draped on their backs and hatted,
the kids, hatted and gawking into
the approaching lens, hawking newspapers
just like the movies said they would,—

and the metal clunks of machines, and the greyness 

of the exposition,— the greyness in the exposure
of life which has no life but within the borders
of this introduction,—

the gentleman, 2:34 into the scratching

production, moistened by the saturating Part,

realizing the chugging car approaching,

decides to make a dash across the street,

has second thoughts,

and retreats as the car rumbles into the frame

from the right, and the gentleman

is back-stepping quickly from its bumper

because he has the time to step back,—

because he is living in the time where he has the time.
We imagine the chugging automobiles
blaring their warnings: "Ahooga! Ahooga"!—


In the distance, the dust of ruin has clung to the atmosphere,
and what we hear is the living invitation of the Part.