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THE AUTHOR The universe, I believe, was created by an artist. Her canvas is time, her colours are emotion. Both are interchangeable, neither can exist without the other. As a writer I suppose it is important to remember that. Desdemona is a coming of age for me - a time when I find I must put away the faith based, analogous reality of yonder year and prepare to embrace the faithless, shiftless world of the bard; barefoot exiles, citizens of no land, exchanging stories for a meal, ideas for shelter and a compliment or two for the road. Hobos and bards have a lot in common; neither of them have a fixed address, neither of them own maps and they both depend on the kindness of strangers. And for our life choices there will be a high price; alienation, mockery, uncertainty and a sense that we can never go home again. I am a hobo with a yarn or two to wile away the journey. I hate spoon-fed realities, all hobos do. I hate media based ideologies, pre masticated for easier consumption by the masses. Oh, yeah, and I hate a badly made curry. That can bugger my day right up.
I love coming home from strange places and waking up beneath foreign skies. I love spring because it promises summer. I hate summer because it never delivers on that promise. Every year I fool myself that it will. I love fooling myself. I fall for it every time.
We are all stories waiting to be told - all creatures of divine emotion. No matter how clinical our laws and how rigid our social structure emotion not commerce drives the will of the species.
Story sets in motion the wheels of creation and every hobo understands the value of wheels. My art is my stock train, I occupy the empty carriage near the front, my bed is straw, my companions are on their way, they'll join me soon enough, if not this station then the next. I have faith in invisible friends. It's cold at night and hot by day and for five minutes every evening, right about dusk, it's just perfect. I hope you'll join me for a stop or two, I hope we'll be travelling companions, you and I. Take a break from linear physics, my train goes where no other can. We'll share tales of empire and long ago things; we'll scry the future and bring back legends of the fall. We'll season our myths with scintillations of miracles and tragedies and throw gods and angels into the mix. I am restless inside three dimensional skin. My reading light is the stars; the moon a fleeting luxury between breaks in the trees. But for a hobo that's almost enough - to have a tale to tell and someone to tell it to, now that's all a man could ever ask for… G. Udenkwo. 1/3/08
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