Night. Always night. We applied our masks, raised the curtain, crossed a stage and recited our lines. Instructed words, foretold. Within a dream within a conviction that a thespian forgery of life must upstage the ashen reality we performed outside the confines of the theater.
What a great post-August re-introduction to the singular imagination of Victor David! I read it as a death parable, and haven't yet decided if I'm going to adjust my interpretation to that of a dream. But hey, it's my laptop. Regardless, it's a wonderful story - thank you, Victor!
Fabuloso! Victor. Gracias por compartir.
What an amazing dream! Especially liked "Forever driven to the accolades of a faithless public." "Only thing real was our avoidance of reality." "night darktumbled from God’s hand and streetlights glowered." "These hollow bones of thoughts..." Beautiful, Victor.
Wild and wonderful, Victor. I must read several more times. Glad to have you back! I too took August off and the muse seems to have left the building in my absence. This piece inspires me to look for her!
Beautiful, Victor! - I missed you. Glad you are back!
Read entire piece and it held my attention. Very well written. First thing I've read on this site, new to site.