I am told by A I mystery voices that despite not having posted anything new in some fifty odd years, I have been protected from 10,973 spam comments on my public website. After giving away all my spillover footnotes, suffering a relapse from my erudite memory failure, I am yet insulted by a Digital Social medium of mass communication in not meeting community standards, whatever that could mean. I have learned that I am probably not a suitable subject for a group passion to invert and to crush language itself. I am fine with that. Why I remain “a person of interest” to those who make sport of disturbing those who have done little more than rubbed elbows with the greats and returned into the shadows of hidden meaning is of little consequence. I am told as I age I am even more irritating than when I was a potent player. I fear only having scratched the surface. Now I must endure the loss of too many rare friends of superior vision and therefore miss the better aspects of my more complete self. Images must replace the soulsubstance of flesh to conjure presence.
Images of youth and beauty linger despite cruel manipulation of mortal thought by cyber-cellular induction. Let me begin with my own semiotics of ” photo-linguistica” spawned some half century ago when I was but a wee wannabe genius.
Image: Secret Honor / Philip Baker Hall is Nixon.
