Delusions of un Mundo Mejor. ... and a proud member for 2 years 50 weeks

NLXJ is an artist. He uses pencils, paints, words, flesh, dirt, clay, blades, guitars, keyboards and whatever else he can throw in the mix to achieve this so-called artistry. His writing and art have been published in book form, he has carved ink images into his own friends' skin, quit high school on his 16th birthday, graduated NYU with honors, traveled across the country three times (both ways) in a greyhound bus in just one summer, and once upon a time lived in a house with sawed-off tree-trunks for stairs.

My Latest Post:

Still Time (to Form a Circle)

AS I'VE WRITTEN BEFORE, I had the lie of Age=Authority shown to me early in life. Whether it was the peer beat-downs that sometimes found me due to my being a tiny kid; the police occasionally appearing as adversaries to my family or their friends; the rebellious music I grew up hearing; the fact that my caretakers were at times drastically incompetent or hostile or both; or certain teachers displaying inappropriate stupidity, immaturity, or outright aggression—I labored under no belief that big people were infallible or expert. I moved around. A lot. In some places, I found that this skepticism was not necessarily the norm in my peer groups. Some friends (most, in some areas) seemed to have kneejerk reactions to authority, be it teacher, priest, police, or parent. That reaction was to publicly obey, even to fear, to reflexively genuflect. Regardless of what the friend said, felt, or did in private. I did not, at least, suffer that contradiction. Perhaps that is unfortunate...and yet in the world I've known, it was best. Either way, it eventually labeled me as insubordinate, rebellious, and trouble. But what is a child to do in the face of fake and often-harmful authority—but rage?