(satellite view of farm, middle of shot, bounded by yellow, red indicates path of bypass)
Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
Boris must have lived in Mississippi in the summer time at some point, i.e., the heat and humidity can no doubt cause one to think the Apocalypse has come; temperatures taking a steady heading into the mid nineties and above and god only knows how high the humdity is. Suffice it to say, it feels like a blast furnace hooked up to a water hose. I can’t really say I remember it being this hot/humid but the weather channel assures me that this is indeed a record hot year in MS. Perhaps its the devil getting his bellows ready for the countdown to meltdown. There are enough churches in town to assure me that might be the case, I forget also that one of the first questions/suggestions/statements when you first meet someone is : Oh where do you go to church. I would like to say that church is the place for that timelessness in the Miller quote above, a Sacred Opening ready for …Whatever. But if anything , it is the pulling of one’s geneaology though the present-day eye of the needle into a hoped-for reunion of one’s relatives (and hence one’s self)… the community of those who have everything in common. Yes, very different from the pomo “community of those who have nothing in common” but merely exist in the same sheer diaphanous sphere, untouching of those in proximity.
The placement of the cemetary in the middle of time here, indeed seems like an Omphalos, a transtemporal gyre twisting Then past, now Here, and to come, Then again, in the future. Albeit tacked more loosely to the land than previous generations.
Meanwhile (the Geo always exists as a meanwhile, biding its time, since it holds all the card ) the heat baking us all into a casserole for the Neshoba County Fair coming up this week.
More later on Fairs, heat, Kairos, and onward—or backward–or around and around …