The Lexicon Artists

Note:  This was written between 2003-2004 and was an attempt to fuse some motifs from David Lynch and Thomas Pynchon.  At best, it's an exercise in auto-erotic asphyxiation between Love and Death.  At worst, it's a waste of time.  Either way, my apologies in advance.   I.  He never really wanted this, this simulacrum, this dust on the mirror, this wet kiss on parched skin.  He wanted nothing.  He wanted an empty stage that echoed this life.  He wanted a shifting of feet, pattering around under empty eyes.  He wanted a cry to relinquish the void, to cast away the light and force the line to break.  He wanted vows to hold as a torch.  He wanted to establish a false dichotomy, a false solipsism.  But he never really wanted this.  II.  There is a distance between visions, a gap that forces us to mourn the reality of space, of tears, of false names.  She dances in this space.  She does this becau...

[Note:  Something I drafted 12/31/2011 but forgot to post up.] I was going to write something about how the highlights of 2011 really gave me new perspective on life and my place in the world, how they taught me that at my age I was still capable of change, and how joy and happiness could still find new places to take root...and conversely about how the low points of 2011 had the potential of etching a shadow on my days to come, a shadow that I'm not sure I'd ever be able to cast a light on. ...but I wanted to avoid the sentimental, so I thought I'd try to write something punny, with airy alliteration, like "titular trappings tend towards troublesome times" or "linear lunacy lends life limited longevity"... ...but I didn't want to sound too frivolous, so I went with something more stoic, something to do the old gods of the North right: "In this last year, my head didn't end up on the tip of a spear, and my heart didn't end up n...