A Novel
by
L.D . JANAKOS
Wild Ocean Press
San Francisco
Copyright 2014 by L.D. Janakos
All rights reserved.
First edition
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews. For information contact the author at . LDJANAKOS.ORG
An e-book edition of Platos Screw , published in 2013, is available from Amazon.com.
Janakos , L.D.
Platos Screw / L.D. Janakos
PsychologicalFiction; WomensFiction; SatireFiction; AbsurdFiction; SurrealFiction
ISBN: 978-1-941137-00-0
Front and back cover photograph by Kansuke Yamamoto, copyright Toshio Yamamoto. Used with permission.
Drawing of screw in the interior of the book copyright Linda Haim. Used with permissio n.
Cover design by L.D. Janakos
Distributed by Small Press Distribution, Inc. http://www.spdbooks.org
Wild Ocean Press
San Francisco
www.wildoceanpress.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Dedicated to Doren along with other familial males who surround me: John, Ziggy, Malik, Angel Julian, Angel, Ayden, Gary, Julian, Ben and Jack.
Im deeply grateful to Toshio Yamamoto for permission to use the photograph by his father, Kansuke Yamamoto, on the covers; to the Getty Museum Trust Fund for providing a .tiff file of the untitled photo; and to John Solt and Alexandria Sivak for arranging for the use of the photograph.
Additional special thanks to Linda Haim for her drawing of the screw used in the interior of the book.
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Special thanks to Doren Robbins for his precise and insightful editorial comments and suggestions on a late draft of the novel.
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Additional thanks for feedback on sections of the novel from Michael Neff and from members of my Tuesday writing group. Thanks as well to Tovia Anderson for her needed proofreading.
An excerpt from Platos Screw appeared in the online literary journal
5 Trope in 2013.
An early draft of the novel was partly serialized and first appeared at
Del Sol Review in 2010-2011.
An excerpt from an even earlier draft appeared in Exquisite Corpse
online in 2002 under the novels original title, Brancusis Back.
From Blank to Blank
A Threadless Way
Emily Dickinson
photograph by
Kansuke Yamamoto
copyright Toshio Yamamoto
Table of Contents
(Near the Beginning)
(Postage Stamps)
(An Architectural Confession)
(Brancusis Pause)
(Near the End)
Frame 1
Only a few peole knew about Brancusis study on the pathology of windows. But no one knew what it involved. Myself included. At the Caf Fig, I lingered at the counter with my coffee drink.
Brancusi sat alone at a table staring with intensity out the window. Anyone else watching would think his attention focused on the activity outside, mostly people walking by in ordinary ways. But I knew those outside interested him only in their relationship to the window.
Heres a fact, he said after we greeted and I took a seat across from him.
I leaned forward to hear him over the loud talking.
He turned off his cell phone lying on top of a small notebook already stuffed with several napkins. Pouring himself more coffee, Brancusi ordered French press because he didnt like other people pouring his coffee.
If anything, he continued in his reticent exuberance, there are too many facts, even in dead things.
Brancusi spoke sparingly and quietly, with a refinement that comes with the privilege of not desiring to accumulate friends or things.
Yet, he couldnt sit still in public. Even now, in the middle of talking, he paused, jumped up and returned with more napkins. Its possible such momentary escapes were characteristic of scientists. But Brancusi always seemed to be disappearing even when he looked right at you and if asked, could state back every word you spoke for the past hour. He had that kind of a memory. I sipped on my coffee and opened my notebook.
Brancusi hired me to follow him around, to collect impressions. On the day I took the job, he insisted, Keep track of irrelevant details. Make impromptu guesses. We have the empirical stuff covered. After one year on the job, I now felt lost in my notes.
Leaning forward in his chair, he told me about his recurring dream. Isaac Newton suddenly appears at a window. Wearing glasses, he wants Brancusi to bring him a pair of glass cutters and pliers. Brancusi brings him a pair of blue swimming trunks and goggles instead. Insulted, Newton grabs Brancusis wrist and they struggle.
Brancusi said he wanted to get as far away from Newton as he could. Newton and his associates. The dead Newton with his either-or apple. Brancusi wanted to bury the science of the Enlightenment with its overgrown profundity and resistant geometric shapes.
He poured more coffee for himself. Mentioning that Newton left out certain equations to maintain his system, Brancusi excused himself and got up for clean napkins. He scribbled all of his notes on napkins, sometimes before he spoke. At the counter, he paused and lingered before he returned. Taking his seat again, Brancusi said, Newton had optic shrewdness but myopic alchemy. It made him dishonest.
Thats about all he had to say about running from Newton. That and the fact he thought Newton still ruled the way we looked in and out of windows.
Brancusi told me about the dream only because I had complained that to get to impressions that made fictional sense, I still needed clear facts to muse over. Not that I blamed just my paltry notes on the missing facts. I blamed problems in my personal life more.
t started at the unveiling of Platos Screw. The elevator door opened on the top floor of the Free American Bank building. I huddled in the back of the elevator in my dark glasses and didnt move to get off with the others. Instead, I rode back down to the lobby. Not because I suffered from indecisiveness or had changed my mind about viewing the screw or because of any impending danger (no armed guards looked back at me as the door opened), but because I wanted to finish a thought about the vacuum cleaner I remembered.
The vacuum cleaner incident went back years. Barely four, I stood with my mother in a slow line in the basement of Sears to return a vacuum cleaner with poor suction. I tried to wander off to daydream, but my mother warned the surveillance cameras didnt care for that. In front of us, a tall woman in spike heels kept tapping her shoe in some kind of social Morse code. When she reached the clerk, he kept apologizing as if the line had betrayed them both. And then she and her shoes left.
Now wandering about the lobby of the bank building, I tried to finish thoughts of the Sears incident, so I could view the unveiling of the screw undistracted. Lately, thoughts of the project and my real life were intermingling too much, so I couldnt keep focused on either when I needed to.