I also read "Bartleby the Scrivener" by Herman Melville tonight, for no better reason than I had a Norton in front of me, and I opened it to page 1103. A couple-dozen pages later, I was really wishing I'd opened it to Allen Ginsberg, although I have to say that about the last five pages of Bartleby read like better comedy than I've written in quite some time. I'm not sure if that was intentional, and maybe it's only my own twisted perception of things these days that made it so.
In any case, I was reminded of a passage from Moby Dick, which according to all of the copies I've looked at doesn't go exactly like this, but it just sounds better this way, which came from Star Trek: First Contact; probably because almost everything sounds better coming from Patrick Stewart. If I was forced to listen to the audio versions of Dan Brown (The DaVinci Code) books in an otherwise sensory-deprived state, the only way my head wouldn't explode out of complete and total anguish and misery would be if Patrick Stewart was reading it. Or Gina Gershon. In any case,
"And he piled upon the whale's white hump, a sum of all the rage and hatred felt by his whole race, if his chest had been a cannon he would have shot his heart upon it."Well. As I have to work in eight hours, I'm going to sleep now, watching episodes thirty-one through thirty-six of Robotech, that being the last disc of The Macross Saga, where everything just goes to hell in a handbasket, and I'll consider how much better a place the world would have been if Rick Hunter hadn't shacked up with that Minmei tramp. Oh well, at least when they start up the new series, maybe we'll find out that he took her into space on the SDF-3 and pushed her out an airlock on the dark side of the moon.