And so we begin again. We, the royal we, the editorial.
Theory and the signature. This one is signed, marked by the name, by my name, or a version of it. This one is labeled, is official. An effort towards coherence. Gather together the least of these my brothers and keep them all in one neat box.
There is much to be said. Questions of the discipline in saying, continuing to say. Of repetition and permanence.
But this is theory. This is academic. This is the ruins of an ivory tower played through the static on a flickering LCD. This is art. This is the story of a man walking into a bar carrying a bag full of broken chain links and 7 overdue library books. The intersection then. With identity, the signature, and the devil. Out on Highway 61.