Homes Sunday, September 19 1999

Betwixt the times when ladies drove smallish equine carriages across the naked British landscape, and those when humble sycamores could be swiftly transplanted via digital conveyance in a matter of neoseconds, the twentieth century experienced a brief romance with aeroplanes. Heavy metal gas-emittors, these devices were quite popular amongst the occupational class and those seeking dalliances across the provinces. What would have taken weeks to transpass in the earlier times now took only a few houres. However the convenience was significantly undermined by the efforts one mindful passenger was required to take upon herself.

I recently ventured to attempt air travel in order to better become familiar with the rudiments of arcane adventure. How dumfuddled was I to find not less than one thousand other patrons lollygagging all abouts the airfield container, waiting in queues to receive paper passageways; waiting in queues to provide rapiscans in order to prove their cavities contained no contaminants; waiting in queues to offer tiny sacs of miniature liquids for display; and waiting in queues to obtain a day-old biscuit for $13.

After a lengthy encounter with some blue-suited corsair who was trying to thieve my footsandals, I made haste through a series of terminals and eventually onto the aerial skeleton. What horror! It was the size of the dormitory bathroom I shared with nineteen unwelcoming students in my erudifying days, and yet this clunker was to maintain over 300 persons weightless in the atmosphere for a duration of exceptional length. Crammed legless into penitential desks, I could only cogit with amazement the number of coins each reckless soul had poured into their transit! Unable to meet restfulness I intrepidly pursued the in-flight cinema. I ate my small lunch of raisins, tendon, and celery, only to find that I was entreated to stoically entertain dry-mouth and hot-fever until the ration of cola was eventually dispensed.

What obscene tendencies does the lifeblood of twentieth century folk have within itself to persevere throughout such torturous ambulatory disfigurement? To what ends is their transmission of bodies so demanded? Certainly this period of transit represents the most mundane of masochistic attempts at innovation.

-H.E. Homes