Adam Fieled (Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania, USA): "Luminescence"
Mike and I watched curiously from the entranceway—
The Bats had judiciously placed Abby, with electric
keyboard and microphone, on the polish-floored centerstage.
The luminescence of the heir apparent to the French Neo-
Classicists (no one since David could do portal-ways with
her assurance) thusly declared its dominion over all.
Even as the homeliness of souped-up punk music, thrown
together by Abby and Liz, made an odd juxtaposition
with Abby’s compositional detailing, worthy of Ingres himself,
and from a center of consciousness just as immersed in girls.
Abby’s way and manner of suturing together the sublime
and the ridiculous in her life was unique, gutsy. The Highwire
rocked on its foundations that night, as Mike and I watched,
sharing a spliff. Liz had already decided: Abby was riding
towards me. This was a powerful scene. Abby enjoyed the discipline
of placing herself under Liz. Thus, getting official sanction to
shack up with the one straight guy who meant the most to
her was a special treat. Ultimately, the funniest, horniest
cosmic joke is that this was the moment Abby came to be in full
command of her painterly powers. The arcane sense of
super-advanced spatiality in her brain liked the crowds
and foot-lights just fine. They made her feel loved. For
this brief moment, she could just about handle the demands
of a history-making muse. It all coalesced into a sense
that the ups and downs of days not untouched by
the demands of regional celebrity (including media demands)
pushed Abby into a space where she was compelled to be
productive in other ways. One version of the seeding of the century.
© Adam Fieled 2025-2026
The Bats had judiciously placed Abby, with electric
keyboard and microphone, on the polish-floored centerstage.
The luminescence of the heir apparent to the French Neo-
Classicists (no one since David could do portal-ways with
her assurance) thusly declared its dominion over all.
Even as the homeliness of souped-up punk music, thrown
together by Abby and Liz, made an odd juxtaposition
with Abby’s compositional detailing, worthy of Ingres himself,
and from a center of consciousness just as immersed in girls.
Abby’s way and manner of suturing together the sublime
and the ridiculous in her life was unique, gutsy. The Highwire
rocked on its foundations that night, as Mike and I watched,
sharing a spliff. Liz had already decided: Abby was riding
towards me. This was a powerful scene. Abby enjoyed the discipline
of placing herself under Liz. Thus, getting official sanction to
shack up with the one straight guy who meant the most to
her was a special treat. Ultimately, the funniest, horniest
cosmic joke is that this was the moment Abby came to be in full
command of her painterly powers. The arcane sense of
super-advanced spatiality in her brain liked the crowds
and foot-lights just fine. They made her feel loved. For
this brief moment, she could just about handle the demands
of a history-making muse. It all coalesced into a sense
that the ups and downs of days not untouched by
the demands of regional celebrity (including media demands)
pushed Abby into a space where she was compelled to be
productive in other ways. One version of the seeding of the century.
© Adam Fieled 2025-2026
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