Friday, August 05, 2005

Blogging For the Sake of the Children

BOBBIE Good fiction is no different than non-fiction. It’s just a shift of the adjectives, a replacement of the specifics. You put a tarp over something and when you take it off, it has changed. It’s not magic. It’s just that you notice what you didn’t notice before. With that in mind, please know that I’m telling you the truth. The man clears his head on the subway. He lets himself be rocked by the motion, goes slack in the lurches. He is a spectator. Attracted by this color, struck dumb by this shape, astounded by this shade of skin. The man doesn’t speak but sometimes there is excessive eye contact and a lot of looking at the ground. The man never follows through. He always slinks away when the doors open. He is nursing a depression. (Taking out a handgun, looking down the barrel.) I clear my head by looking down the barrel of a forty-five. It used to be a flare gun, then a bee bee gun. Then it was this but unloaded. Now I have to load it or the mind won’t clear. I’m afraid of what the next step might be. I am terribly good at following through. You might say, that like the man, I am depressed. If you had no sense of proportion, you might say we are the same. School starts up a month (or so) from now. I'm so excited I can hardly stay upright. Tonight is the last night of Nerve at 13th Street Rep. I'm sure I'll see you all there.

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