The Late Americans

by Brandon Taylor

The person who ran the modern section was one of those philosopher artists who shouted Wittgenstein at the dancers as they worked their way through the tangled knot of his choreography. It was less a dance than an institutionalized destruction of the self.

“I just mean. We get so hung up on these labels, like poet, painter, dancer, grad student—it’s all because we’re godless faggots and our world has no central organizing theme anymore.”

He had wanted to be used. To be run over the edge of someone else’s want to sharpen it.