A roundabout discussion in the rain with a friend who is passing in the street early this morning as I head to another day at the office. The subject of structure (or lack thereof) is addressed somewhere in the middle, or perhaps it is the end. We agree on the merits of structure in relation to eating habits, him standing there under his broken umbrella, me under the café awning, both of us more or less dry and more or less late now for our respective duties.
We part. I go on wondering about the shape of the day, the contours of the figures in the Métro dressed for a day of work, the form of Ulysses… How is each defined? Something I can’t quite get at as I unfold the newspaper on the train and start to read about the kiosks of Rome and then think of Fellini, everyone and everything just dancing on and on.