Of the seven or eight thousand species of dung beetles, the most interesting are the ball rollers, and they are interesting chiefly for their taxonomy. Back in the day, some wit or wannabe classical scholar actually named these little fellows "sisyphus," as in "sisyphus rubrus" and "sisyphus spinipes" (the chief difference between these two being whether or not they bury the ball with their egg in it).
Today the CBO is carrying on in the classical tradition rolling references from Sisyphus to Beckett (Krapp’s Last Tape, among other works… I think I’ll forego explication for once).
Unicorn tapestries, daughters of the moon, Homer Simpson, Edward Munch, James Olney, BSE prions and Buffalo Springfield. We expect no less from the CBO, who reminds us:
… that memory and narrative are, like, real real important, but not necessarily indispensable. Whew, that’s
a relief! Because now I can’t remember why I started writing this. Or
what it’s even about. If anything. So I suppose I’m more in the Samuel
Becket camp. It’s a fact, after all, that he won the Nobel Prize for
Literature in 1969 and I did not. I feel that connects us more deeply
than had we been brothers.
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