New Year’s selfie, West Texas.
I tell you these things because they compose a personal mythology, and through writing I struggle to ascertain its meaning. I write them to address the blankness, the white strain of the too-familiar residing in so many things now, separated by habits of thought, by surveillance infrastructures, by images and texts detached from stories. How ghosts form and deform, persisting in advance of a feeling. Charley Pride reminds me to listen above and below the vacancy of a surface: “Well people may try to guess / The secret of a happiness / But some of them never learn it’s a simple thing.” – Rob Mclennan reviews RED FLYING HORSE
DALE MARTIN SMITH 