I sold my soul for 150 extra years of life; but after filling much of that time with a variety of troubled wanderings, this is where I end up — riding a road bike tot- ally unsuited to the barren mountain trails I’m fated to finish my years trapped upon, & all the while looking so ridiculous that even the owls seem sorry for me.
Place the bell, le grelot, firmly on the ground. No need to anchor it — unlike the artist’s elsewhere use of it, this time it does not float. A solid reality keeps it where it is intended to be. Then lower the horizon & not only bring the cloud down with it but also shift it forward so it seems out of place but perfectly posit- ioned above the bell. Now, to ensure it doesn’t float away, flatten the sky behind & call upon that peripatetic rock to actually do something, anchor the column from above, act as a counterweight to entropy.
