We were born in the City of Darlings and came to believe that in the world of spoon bending, it is the thought that counts.
These hand crafted illusions have been passed down from generation to generation and we are still doing them wrong after all these years. Wearing blinders helps us see our folly more clearly.
[One would hope that we would have found new ways to fail—insert photograph here]
Just like ghosts, failure is in the lineage, in the blood and bone. Our people were always showing up late for the battles and eventually we stopped being invited to the wars.
We walk on water but we can’t swim. We turn water into wine but we don’t drink.
I’ve spurned offers for the rights to our life history—who can write about something that never happened? Who can speak of things that have not yet occurred? My memory is incredible; I can recall things that never happened.
We will be remembered by no one.
You’ve all seen the photographs—my grandfather being swallowed by a whale as he swam off the coast of Nearly Certain, only to emerge three days later with a baby, a bird’s nest and several copies of Whitman’s, Leaves of Grass.
My grandfather was a self-made man who hatched from the egg of that rare species of bird, Delusions of Grandeur. These birds are never seen in this part of the universe anymore. [Note: Da Vinci has some beautiful sketches of these illustrious creatures in his little known book, I See What I Draw Doesn’t Amuse You Anymore]
[Question] Why must all of our life-lessons come from near-death experiences?
He grew-up among princes, danced before Napoleon (about 100 years before Napoleon) and studied the art of silence with Marcel Marceau. In feat of cunning and daring he rescued my grandmother from the circus strongman. To escape they had to cross over the high wire and eventually were shot out of the cannon and landed in the next town. They never spent another day apart from one another.
[For their honeymoon they walked to Hell and back]