At what point does the trivial somehow take on an aura of brilliance?
I don't even know what that means.
but, you know, you read something like Cathedral, and the actualy action is so trivial, nearly meaningless, though not meaningless.
The narrator is kind of a bastard, kind of everyday. But it somehow seems moving.
and sometimes I wonder why it is. Because I don't know that he daw the beauty of the moment, and that's the saddest part of the story.
i wonder if i miss that beauty today