You find yourself on the rooftop of a ruined building in a ruined city on a frosty night. A motley few huddle together to listen to the tinny sounds emanating from a hand-held electronic device.

Transmitting food for their souls, The Poet K unpacks his narrative.

“They’ll kill themselves if you’ll watch.

Crystal shells radiating with blood red illusions, manufactured self-delusions masquerading as raw truth, danced to the rhythm of 2/4 time. Lying in the gutter, the artists shatter their casings and slosh their essence down the drain. Next.

Rodin’s Man sees the self-sacrificing lamb once more, on stage, bleeding openly into an amplified phallus, ejaculating vicarious pain to a feeding frenzy of the emotionally-desolate, overfed yet chanting for more.

Uncertain, Rodin’s Man doesn’t attend the vigil. Their friendship didn’t end. It just didn’t continue. Their stories had diverged. Disparate second acts called for lines neither was prepared speak, relationships interrupted by incompatible realities

Rodin’s Man knows that energy is finite in the moment. Time lost is infinite. Choices get made.

He takes a moment. He acknowledges his sadness. He rages against the futility, the needlessness. He embraces his uncertainty and lets it go. Choices get made.

Rodin’s Man ponders the self-destructing artist setting forth under a reversible shield of booze and drugs.

Claiming a higher magnitude of experience, of intensity, of mindfulness, the artist contends that it is in the destruction of self that true self is to be found. Yet, when scabs fall off does not another mask emerge?

Rodin’s Man has heard that a person can live more in a moment of sobriety than in a lifetime of intoxication. The lamb’s bleating bears witness to this as the beat goes on.

Rodin’s Man decides he need not be there at the end. He figures that the final act is performed alone, an audience of one, regardless the number of cheering spectators.

Rodin’s Man watches as another takes the stage. He acknowledges his sadness. He rages against the futility, the needlessness. He embraces his uncertainty and lets it go. Choices get made.”

 

Rodin’s Man is a work in progress. Feedback is appreciated.