The shooting of children by children is not murder. It is death play, from which adults distance themselves as they settle back into recliners to study it. Death fascinates, seduces, disturbs and repays them for their attention with its hollow denouement.
You've seen it. A Ford F150 drives down a treelined country road. A Toyota Tercel car door being closed slowly by a man wearing a Panama hat. A woman in a dark coat walks to the front door of her apartment, down the hall, & presses the elevator call button. Filler scenes, signifying nothing. They are the pollution of the visual era, in which we are held hostage to storytellers' inability to purge the superfluous.
The oft-expressed kinship with the city where one resides is an affiliation of the most superficial sort.
Without the experience of abandonment, there can be no apocalypse. Without apocalypse, there can be no sustainable spiritual energy. Thus it is possible for inspiration to begin with the void.
The body is a civilization whose birth, rise and fall is fully known only to its inhabitant. It is a secret that was not meant to be revealed except by dissection and art.
Before it's ready for the light of day, creativity takes a dangerous course through the idiosyncratic and the trivial.
Most significant events go unremarked-upon, unobserved, or overlooked in the pursuit of the Celebrity Other.
(c) dark 1998