I love to hold the 1996 edition of my magnum opus.[1] I love to browse through it, too. Although it contains a mere fifth of my writings to date, it gives me a clear idea how my entire opus would look and feel (“The Five Plump Volumes,” March 21, 2012). But I find it almost impossible to read more than a few lines on any page opened at random. I just shake my head in awe of my meandering wisdom and open another page. But I was of better luck today. “The trajectory of an ant may appear exceedingly complex…,” I read (“Of Ants and Men,” September 4, 1982).[2] This time I continued reading, though. Ants are simple creatures in complex environments, I went on to explain. They would go straight in a world devoid of obstacles. But then I went for the clincher: “This applies to my writing, as well.”[3] How very true. Is there any better way to explain the five plump volumes that crowd my mind? So many obstacles all around me.

Footnotes

1. Residua I-XX: Selections, London: The Hereford Salon, 1996.

2. Op. cit., p. 550.

3. Op. cit., p. 551.