Andrew Gabriel Rose

Andrew Gabriel Rose is a writer, dancer, and painter from Philadelphia. He is concerned with the relationship between aesthetics and ethics. He's going to die but he's not dead yet. He lives and works in Oakland, California. I can barely remember anything about the events or circumstances surrounding our presence on the snow that night. In my memory it is divorced from everything else, paired only, vaguely, with a warm summer memory of reddish, slanting sunlight on water, pale bare feet visible through the water - a different day in the same place. The summer memory must have come first. In my mind we are suddenly there in the snow, there is a bottle of wine between us, red wine, green bottle. Sometimes the wine is in my hand and sometimes it is in your hand. I am chasing you. My boots slip on the rocks and mud under the snow. You are like a black rabbit, darting between the trees. Above us, concrete pylons stretch into the gray sky. The highway is high and it roars quietly, unceasingly, invisibly.