Consider your vices. Might you still agree to partake in any particular vice if it resulted in death? At some recent point, recent enough that I am still semi-baffled, I realized that partaking in particular vices is a type of contract or agreement—an understanding that the action may end in death. I have this vague memory of a couple that chased volcano eruptions. Almost like dodging the water coming in on a shoreline, but with lava. Both of them had this understanding that they would die doing this. One died. I’ve lost the piece of the story that comes after one person died. Did the person that lived longer stop?
Did I lose this part of the story or did I misplace it? Pardon me, I’m—We’re going to have to backtrack for this!
There is a bold margin of nearly empty space at the top of page 648. (6) words are bound and suspended on the left side of this space. It looks something like this:
‘As you wish.’
Steeply and Marathe are trying to come up with the word to describe dead eyes fixated on the ‘…Entertainment of now.’
As in trapped in some sort of middle.
Between two things.
Pulled apart in different directions.
All of this until Steeply brings up “Misplaced. Lost.”
Marathe sticks to “Misplaced.” Steeply holds to “Lost” until he closes the conversation with “As you wish.”
Being “Lost” or “misplaced” in that “Entertainment of now” leaves everything else in the margin.
The most important step between a useful experience and not—when captivated by the “Entertainment of now” is a big sense of: