Long live the new flesh

Ballardian spot of time

Are our first fascinations always perverse, he wonders. The thought comes to him not from Freud—it is not intellectual in that sense—he cannot quote chapter and verse—but from seeing his son playing with the little bits of metal, the tags on the zipper of the traveling bag, which he lies swatting, grasping at, fiddling with, seemingly hours by hours. He…