what they did not find in the details, they created and called their own.
September 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
What was beyond dispute, but certainly open for interpretation and opinion, was —Boy, does he pace or what? Whether it be from right to left, or front to back, and on occasion in large circles, R. roamed the small stage not like an animal caged, to be viewed but as though he was the one looking. —Almost like he’s squinting for details, a few of the perceptive had observed. In the trails of a vacuumed carpet, the faded shadow from a dying chandelier bulb, the cedar branches fingernailing the windows during a strong wind, the angular fidgeting of farting men two-arms distant from the women who outnumbered them, the dangling trickle of brow sweat that had wept down and over the left lens of his glasses lingered like a kiss against his cheek, R.’s eyes searched them all, and what they did not find in the details, they created and called their own.