• Interstate 84
• John Tessitore

Since no one reads the signs anymore,what we know of place and history leakslike the slow seep of the Housatonicthrough the purgatory of pine between my presentcompromises and my past ideals, no timefor the purchase of indulgences, for simony,for a day of good works to speed us along.

We dip into a dreary obscurity,a corridor of listless industry—Hartford,Waterbury, Danbury—the stolid sort that comesto Connecticut to stay until the bitter end,like the outcast Irish annealing themselvesin the brass foundries, now micro-breweries, poundingthemselves pliant, drinking themselves to sleepand leaving their families to the liquor merchantswho turned Father McGivney's temperate zealinto life insurance, the marginaladvantage of presence over absence,

an enterprise that proves the fertilityof boredom, distance as the muse of originality,the ghoulish ingenuity of the fly-over,the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Companylike an impossible quilt geometry, a giant ballof twine, hubcap sculptures and drive-through trees,

and sometimes a soul who takes of his tieto tinker in secret and trifle something new.

I note points of interest to remind usthat true genius is not a blue educationbut the absence of mediation, ignoringthe stone voices of the high priests, remainingout of earshot long enough for the unspooling,the clean transfer of music to paper,the pairing of bright color with dark thought,the joyful warble of a carrion bird,royal fanfare on the village common, the echoof orchestras thundering across the valley. [End Page 115]

In stolen moments, patronless and personal,the right man may wring out whatever sound remainsafter a day among clerks and accountants.The janitor clears the shred to make spacefor an actuarial mind devising a syntaxthat defies the probability of fading away,or the taming of transcendence to a simpleequation, or a policy protecting againstthe inevitable, or the body yieldingannuities, or the surety that investmentdelivers profit, that wealth survives the transaction,that someone always pays to take a risk.

Along the edge of the ledger, a foreignnotation, a holy script in a heavenly hand.

Look closer, my children. As commerce crawls forwardin a slow roll of reinforced rubber,this road simmers with a different possibilityconceived in discontent, a righteous determinationto live a second life of extravagance,of adornment spread over heavy metal,of the thrill of an unappraised thought:a bric-a-brac of the spirit, the fireworksof the first idea, an ice-cream cone as brokenreligion, a self in its glory unfurlinglike a fag, a home, a legacy, a dream. [End Page 116]

• 84号州际公路
• 约翰·泰瑟瑞（John Tessitore）

由于没有人再读过这些迹象了，所以我们所知道的位置和历史的泄漏，就像是在我现在的妥协和我过去的理想之间，通过松木的炼狱缓缓地渗入了胡萨托尼克语，没有时间购买放纵的东西，为了简单的东西而牺牲了。良好的一天可以加快我们前进的步伐。

我们陷入了沉闷的，无精打采的产业走廊-哈特福德，沃特伯里，丹伯里-这是一种隐居在康涅狄格州的苦味派，直到痛苦的结局，就像被废弃的爱尔兰人在黄铜铸造厂（现在是微型啤酒厂）中进行的捣碎一样。自己会自食其力，喝酒睡觉，然后将家人留给白酒商人，这些商人将麦吉夫尼神父的节制热情变成了人寿保险，即存在与不存在相比的边际优势，

一家证明无聊的肥沃性，远见卓识的企业家，飞越的可怕机巧，Hartford事故和赔偿公司，就像不可能的被子几何形状，巨大的麻线球，轮毂罩雕塑和通行树，

有时，一个灵魂将自己的领带秘密地修补起来，琐碎一些新事物。

我注意到的兴趣点提醒我们，真正的天才都不是一个蓝色的教育，但没有调解的，忽略了大祭司的石头的声音，其余听不到出足够长的退绕，音乐的洁净传递到纸上，在明亮的色彩与黑暗的思想相结合，腐肉鸟的愉悦的摇摇晃晃的声音，村庄上常见的皇室风范，乐团的回声在山谷中轰鸣。[结束第115页]

在失窃的时刻，无主的人和私人的人，合适的人可能会在文员和会计中度过一天后剩下的声音。看门人清除了碎片，为精算师的头脑腾出空间，设计出一种语法，该语法可抵抗衰落的可能性，对简单方程式的超越的驯服，或可避免不可避免的政策，或防止身体产生年金或担保人的保证。投资带来利润，财富使交易得以生存，有人总是付钱冒险。

在分类帐的边缘，有一个外来的符号，一个天国手中的圣书。

仔细看看，我的孩子们。随着电子商务匍匐前进在增强橡胶的慢摇，这条路蕴积用不同的可能性，孕育于不满，公义的决心生活奢靡的第二次生命，装饰蔓延过重金属，一个unappraised思想的快感：一精神的小事，第一个念头的烟花，破碎的宗教的冰激凌，荣耀的自我散发出来，像是一个fag，一个家，一个遗产，一个梦想。[第116页]