I am beginning to think that all in the world is response to a question. Everything, everything, everything IS a response to some sort of question, or expectation, I suppose is what I mean, proposed by whatever sensibility to which whatever THING is responding. Right? Ok but this all falls apart when we ask ourselves, or try to imagine, "what was the first question?" We cannot avoid, in discourse such as this, slipping into describing investigating interrogatives to investigate interrogatives. We shouldn't do that, but when the question is, "what was/(is?) the question that all in the world is trying to answer," well since we don't really know, uncertainty breeds faster than Cochons d'Inde. Maybe I should have been clearer. This was all raised by my observations of that certain art form that isn't ever thought of as one: subway station decor. Like for instance Trafalgar Square. Even if it's not your stop, you know where you are when the train stops, and exactly what you're right under. There are graphics lasered on to the wall of some of the more iconic things in the National Gallery. You get the picture, so to speak...but what strikes the passenger is this subterranean geography, that is not visibly at all related to the City above, is relying on, and playing with our expectations of what Trafalgar Square means. So the brown and white Holbeins lasered on the wall are the response to what we ask whene we look out the train window. Take also Kenmore Square on Boston's oh so grunjy Green Line. The artwork, which if not amazing, becomes certainly endearing after a few rides, tells us, "yes" when we remember our impressions of Kenmore Square. I'm not sure. It's very exciting when we wonder that the world might have started with one AMAZING question, that all in the world is still trying to answer, no?