It is snowing this morning on Harris Creek, very conducive to solitary pursuits like reading and writing. A library becomes a more sacred place on a snowy day. What knowledge is it that we are searching for in these booklined rooms, seated at our desks, gazing through glass at the falling snow?

I have never understood how fantasy evolved from reality, or, the theater from the factory. How does drama arise in the midst of metaphysics? Mother and Father are not simply parents and the child is not simply an offspring. How do these fantastic characters present themselves in a purely conceptual universe? There is no rational reason why two naked apes would cover their genitals.

Perhaps the factory is an abstraction and theater is the reality. My experience has been fantastic from the beginning as has the "human experience" as recorded in cultural artifacts. What is the origin and telos of the human drama?