Purveyors of Fine Art
It started quietly, just another blip out of China which honestly wasn’t too frightening, or even particularly interesting, because there is always something coming out of China. Talks of tariffs and high-level political posturing. Rumors of abuses and human suffering which, frankly, we mostly only gave a passing sigh of saddened acknowledgement as we continued …
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I sat all through the isolated night of another numbered day and waited for the quarantined morning to rise out over the sickly and fearful City of Wayne. I waited with smoke-filled eyes, blinking hot and red, not from an underlying undiagnosed infection, but from self-imposed sleepless anticipation and lingering artistic nervousness. I waited with …
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When you strip it all away, there is only the experience of us left, somewhere past all the lies and all the hurt intentionally inflicted for the sake of a foolish argument supposedly won. It sticks stubbornly there, beyond the unnecessary daily dramas that constantly unfolded, relentless in their intrusions. It remains a lingering monument, …
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You were once the unsuspecting doorway to my better life, an unobstructed threshold across which barriers of social and economic consideration became somehow less meaningful, allowing me a whispered moment to be better than I was, alone. And I wanted so desperately to live out my whole life in that one moment, buffered and insulated …
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I am the last thing that the infected City of Wayne needs on this dreary quagmire of another gloomy quarantined night, supposedly in the last week of isolation– but that is probably just another lie. I am the last thing that this town, or any of its people, needs. Or even wants. Because hey, who …
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