Commentary on Carver's Cathedral

(Just cause:
Crosby Stills and Nash "Cathedral" :
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bg-_QyJQago&noredirect=1

(not CSN'S best song but i fig i'd put it here because of the title) )
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I read my library printed out copy of Cathedral while walking back and forth in my front yard. I'd been sitting inside most of the day and wanted the movement as well as the sunshine. a few pargharys in i relized how perfact my chose was. as i walked back and forth and back and forth, Carver's story went back and forth and back and forth. the style of this story remined me of a ping pong ball in a slow pace pro game (if there is such a thing).  i'm talking about things like this:

" She never forgot it. She even tried to write a poem about it. She was always trying to write a poem. She wrote a poem or two every year, usually after something really important had happened to her.
When we first started going out together, she showed me the poem. In the poem, she recalled his fingers and the way they had moved around over her face. In the poem, she talked about what she had felt at the time, about what went through her mind when the blind man touched her nose and lips. I can remember I didn’t think much of the poem..."

(do you get that she wrote a poem or was that a little unclear?)

it personally annoys me but i think it's suppose to. cause our main character/narrator is annoyed with his life and what better way to "show" that in text?  he seems stuck in a never ending never changing existence where he works a job he hates, is part of a failing marriage,  and does the same thing every night.   in and out day after day back and forth. 
 but then soon after he explains that " Every night I smoked dope and stayed up as long as I could before I fell asleep." something about the middle ages is on tv with cathedrals and he tries and tells the blind man about them and they draw together and he stops thinking about how the blind mans blind and closes his own eyes and then sees the possibility of change in his life. or at least...a new-ness. in the last lines of the tale
(""Well?” he said. “Are you looking?” My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.“It’s really something,” I said."") he's looking with his eye closed not at the picture they drew together but at what his life might be..more then drunken late night t.v and hopelessness.




i wonder did anyone else happen to read  Don Delillo's short story "videotape" in lang 120 or else where? that story reads very very much like this one.
since these two stories where so similar in style and Don Delillo writes post modern stuff.  i asked google if Mr. Carver's PoMo too.  Google said yes.  :-)
More on that later I hope.