Domestic Interior

I Observe This Morphic Field

I ObserveThis Morphic Field They were potato chip eaters. Hearty laughers, the kind that make you go deaf and then you can’t hear the entertainment. I hate that kind of laughter, don’t you? Or not, maybe, but I do. They wereTV watchers. I mean they weren’t embarrassed by all the hours. I mean they thought back nostalgically to cuteTV-kid actors. I mean they said,“awwwww,” when recalling this kid. I mean they sang along to the theme song without ironic distance. I mean, perhaps they were more innocent? But, also, they got all worked up by the news shows. I mean, they go,“Look at this crap!” and raise their blood pressure. They felt what the newsanchor told them So I thought of the proles in 1984 with their cheap stories, their sordid porno; I thought of the rage induced, the violence toward the fake enemy that was theirTV show; I watched them rail against too-kind jail conditions, or later the unnecessary imprisonment of someone in maximum security; They yelled at theTV and at the people in the room. I watched them suddenly care very thoughtfully about the psychology of the movie star Crying over it, crying. But it clicks off. And sleep is the sleep of beer and potato chips. And sleep is the sleep not of distance or travel but of right there. Sleep is the sleep they’ve been fed, likeTV and potato chips, Like food-porno: the beautiful high-fat burger glistening in its spin. Once I saw them lick their lips in anticipation Like my cat does when the cat food can is opened. Honey, that made me unbearably sad, that lip-licking. They watch a screen of tales that tell them The world outside is full of beautiful people, hard times, Frightening mountains and dangerous leopards, That no one is to be trusted, that no river is clean. But is the river clean, or isn’t it? What does the newsanchor say to it? What does the newsanchor say to the river? 3 ...