If you read any of my stories or novels, the drama is the same: some fucked up, damaged, terrifying situation and this nearly hysterical determination to spin away from the meat grinder through language, through comedy, through metaphor, through a sort of manic refusal to give in.
“The stranger, wond’ring, stalks, and stares upon
Rome’s antique glories, in her ruins seen;
He sees high arches, huge shining heaps of stone,
Maim’d, mutil’d, murder’d, by years’ wasteful teen:
He sees a rugged, ragged, rocky quarr
Hang in the air, with ivy laced about.
O! what can last, alas! (then cries he out)
Sith Time hath conquer’d the world’s conqueror?”
Joshua Sylvester | “Rome, Conqueror, Conquered”