Not just because it is positive as a review, but
as you see, where I am reaching, ever turning the unknown unknown into its own course. I
choose Fort Lee. It is what I know. I choose Laurie. She is me as well as herself. She is
my female self and I am the most male of males interested in the lights of women not men.
What does that matter of course. It changes as I write. What I wrote five years ago is
being not softened but opened. I have changed. I am changed by what I have done. I will
change more. The work will evolve. I will never escape it. Do I want to escape it. I have
this vision of the life of Vermeer. An English man, Gabriel Pineau, third generation,
Huguenot, Rich full of art and yet Henry or Aaron or Laurie. I want to known not only
Vermeer but to create that world in a new form. Taximurders has given me both strength and
a chance to develop from the lyric poet to the hyperfiction lunatic watching love blossom
and more by more the world collapsing into more and more anger and greater dysfunction.
Raped as a child, I know that possession. Rape, this land, this mind, this murder, I can
never truly understand why we hurt one another. I, who have hurt no one, would hurt no
one, more fascinated by the possibilities the world inculcates or do we in our ardor feed
it backward like the love we once were consuming our minds until the earth resembles Mars.
By the way. My children have promised me that I will be buried there, my ashes strewn on
the Martian surface. Just a bit held back for the Hudson river. I am a lover torn by the
beauty of history and the magic of what some call science fiction. I call it fiction. By
the way I have not read much science fiction. Everyone says I write like I do. Maybe that
is why I do. Thanks for your truth. I expected nothing more. You are a gentleman.
