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Chapter 11
Galileo was confounded with the absolute reality his experience had created. Tension, the kind of an expectant child, loomed around the kitchen. As a dramatic climax the underside of the stool had proved lacking but as the last of the motley black rubber was lovingly applied the completeness was remarkable. What is interesting to know in such conditions is the radical poverty of perfection. It denies its creator any form of satisfaction. Beholden to the most perfect representation of all he could muster Galileo expected valiantly. He waited, and still, life eluded him. Life must create itself. Man as the progenitor of life can only instil upon it order, reason. What life needs is chaos. Being so privileged in creation the Paradoxia Grande, with ample measures joy and sorrow, looked in on itself and saw the world for the first time. Meticulous brush strokes of the world’s finest and most dedicated artist had rendered to the hotel a brief interlude of human truth. The contents of the fruit bowl, the evocation of movement among insects, all as they are real to Galileo, changing and bound. The paradox of human truth, the unrelatable nature of the game.
And now?
Galileo waited idly.
“So, do I show it to someone, or?...What do I even do with this? Why bother creating the goddamn peaches in this hotel when I could've just gone to the shop and used real peaches?”
Galileo frustrated himself.
“Cynthia!” He shouted.
“What do I do now?” He mumbled.
“I have something that may help.”
“That's unlike you.”
“I'm sure you will like it Galileo. It is art.”
“I'm not an artist Cynthia.”
“No. You are more than that Galileo.”
“You're acting odd today. Did I mess up your program or something?”
“Please wait.”
…
“There are 2 minor issues awaiting your attention.”
“Oh, what are they?”
“Your Winzip license expired three-thousand two-hundred and forty-two days ago. You have unused programs on your desktop.”
“Nevermind.”
And now?
Galileo waited idly.
“So, do I show it to someone, or?...What do I even do with this? Why bother creating the goddamn peaches in this hotel when I could've just gone to the shop and used real peaches?”
Galileo frustrated himself.
“Cynthia!” He shouted.
“What do I do now?” He mumbled.
“I have something that may help.”
“That's unlike you.”
“I'm sure you will like it Galileo. It is art.”
“I'm not an artist Cynthia.”
“No. You are more than that Galileo.”
“You're acting odd today. Did I mess up your program or something?”
“Please wait.”
…
“There are 2 minor issues awaiting your attention.”
“Oh, what are they?”
“Your Winzip license expired three-thousand two-hundred and forty-two days ago. You have unused programs on your desktop.”
“Nevermind.”