An honor it was, too, as he told me, “You know that because you don’t get paid anything for it.” — Jeffrey Ford

“There is only one term for this war,” said the old man with the sunglasses. “‘Clusterfuck.’ Cluster as in ‘cluster’ and fuck as in ‘fuck.’ No more need be said.”

The lion is fur, muscle, tendon, claw, and speed, five important ingredients of the unfathomable.

The semester began, and I soon discovered that abstract painting was still the order of the day at the university. Most of the professors had come of age in their own work during the late fifties and sixties and were still channeling the depleted spirit of Jackson Pollock; second- and third-rate abstract expressionists tutoring young painters in the importance of ignoring the figure. The canvases were vast, the paint apply liberally, and the bigger the mess the more praise the piece garnered.