Excerpt from paper 3:
A woman shall enter a museum and pick one up, a child in tow–maybe two–glad for a day without thinking about her pending desposition with a litigious ex-husband and a cheater, and possibly accompanied by a friend (male? handsome?). The child will walk around the display of blocks, distracted by his impulses and propensities, for several minutes and then decide (because it looks quite deliberate) to push and poke, while she is distracted herself, gladly, by the interest of her lover (or her female friend who laughs at her fantasies dared spoken aloud of boiling her ex-husband in oil). And the child will delight in the clamor of the blocks falling onto the white pedestal, an unspoiled plinth, though he won't notice its hallowedness at all but will only be curious as to whether his mother glances at him. She does not. But the flurry of his activity in the peripheral of her eye–like a fly, or maybe a gnat–and perhaps the brooding attention of other diverse, first-class folks will coerce her into picking one up or maybe it makes more sense that she snatches the block from her child's hands (he is clutching it with both) and embraces it in the palm of her hand so much larger than his, manicured in the manner of someone not meaning to be pretentious but just in an effort to care for herself in some small way, beautiful blush tulips at the tips of her fingers, with her digits–organs of operation and feeling–wrapping around the edges, in hands not yet distinguished by solar lentigines. She does not so much look at it, as hold it. Loosely. The block is allowed to move mindlessly, but just a little, cuddled, fussed over, caressed by her fingers. And she realizes, suddenly, that, she has, not really, held anything, anything of her very own, quietly, thoughtfully, for a long time. She is more struck by this grief then anything else and puts the block down somewhat embarrassed– perhaps others notice her grief–and returns to laughing–or flirting with her friend. She will go home and make dinner or he will take them out to dinner and the one son will need his teeth pulled but will grow up and get married, and the second child we can't know much about, really. Perhaps all will simply go well.
