4-6-96
Life is a new
mythology.
A love letter is a form of seduction.
Vortex has my photos.
My existence is almost surreal.
It makes no sense to me. This
life must be a myth; a story I’ve been telling myself.
If it is not a story I’ve been reciting, it must be a story told to me
by some demigod. I have been
seduced by my own myth. I
have begun to believe the letters I write.
I, truly, believed that if I were honest in expressing my feelings and
desires. Others would respond
with the same devotion to truth. Instead,
I have been rewarded with scorn and venom.
Vortex, a new art magazine, has my photos of a recent exhibit. The magazine has folded and my photos are in limbo.
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