It’s like in a car, it’s dreamy, you stare dreamy-eyed out the window and cruise through the night in a way more pure and powerful than any man more than a century ago could have ever dreamed of, let alone comprehended. We are Alexander on a chariot, we climb mountains on elephants like Hannibal Lector, fast and powerful, with nothing on our chests, with no armies wrapped around us; and in the back of the car, with the blanket, surrounded by lips, a little bit closer, the window rolled up and the steam on the windows; arms under you, you feel me, I am warm; the metal is cold though – there is snow on the hood – it is like being in a cocoon, safe and sound and still part of the world. I wonder how the caterpillar spins its cocoon. It is almost inconceivable. I wonder how it transforms into a butterfly. That really is inconceivable. Like an eye, very hard to imagine. How does that happen, after all? Anyone who thinks they understand evolution, I think, must be lying, because it is very difficult to understand. What is natural selection? If I were a mechanic I could drive across the world five times over in my car, and not have to worry, because I would be practically immune from the world. The world is incredible, automobiles and all, but it’s much more than that – just imagine the readers, the conduits, passageways, maintenance, plentiful counters, towers built out of the desert, skies black with pollution and neon with light – we have put together quite a place. I’m certainly not ashamed of it. I’m certainly in love with it. But what do I do with it? What does anyone do with it? How does the caterpillar spin its cocoon? How does the Staten Island ferry? This morning I made an executive decision: that it was Aristotle, after all, who’d knew what he was doing, and I re-affirmed I was right to be critical of Plato. It was impressive what Aristotle did. It was rather mysterious. Where did it get those colorful, sophisticated wings? Where did those beautiful legs come from? When you are not in a car it is best to leave it protected, in the garage, and to clean the dirt from it at least every weekend. People do not take good care of their cars anymore. They will miss them when they’re gone. I wiped some butterfly wings off the headlight.