By Lynn Fox
Tall, slender, striking-looking, with wire-rim glasses and a facial expression--tranquil, unfocused--that suggested that whatever took place behind his eyes had very little to do with what took place in front of his eyes. For Artice, the worlds inside and outside met only at oblique angles, intersecting groups of light, time, love and language that didn't hang out together all that often. It wasn't that Artice lived, as the expression goes, "in his own little world." First of all, it wasn't "his own" world. The world Artice inhabited belongs - galaxy and gold fish, ocean and toilet water - to God. And to his credit, Artice recognized that he temporarily rented a small space here from the ultimate Land Lord. Artice knew Who was in charge because he knew it wasn't him. And that leads to our second point. For God's sake, there was nothing "little" about the world behind his eyes. Just the opposite, in fact. Artice's mind contained, as Whitman said, "multitudes." But Artice didn't think about all that much. He couldn't see the Star Gate on his forehead. Not even in the mirror. It's just that he had these strange visions that would startle him awake at night.
But I digress and drink some real strong coffee.