Auslander, Vandal. Magyar. Goth. Waves crashing on the beach, the racket of it. Bare knuckles beating on an oaken door. Intruders, interlopers, invaders, others...
barbarians coming in twos and fours; clandestine soldiers, armed but harmless.
I have listened too long to the rumors, without confidence.
The victors are culling weaponry off the corpses. The lye keeps the stench at bay. The lie lives another day.
Most of the nights are sleepless. Most of the plots are seamless. Most not all...
Auslander
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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Perhaps, my narcissism tells me...I am your Auslander...
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