Abstraction breaks metaphor and explodes symbolism. It cracks the dome of our imagination allowing the figurative to escape. The difference (to me) between vagueness and abstraction is that abstraction is the most specific and particular form of something indescribable (I write about it as I see it, not as a literary critic might). The ultimate extension of something destined to fail the full identity of its form, it encases the central narrative like a frame tale—the uncanny, the real, the social—we’re just making it up! It’s what’s under the skirt; it’s the naked emperor, which is what I love. It forces us to break language, risk vagueness, risk sounding dumb, tempt twenty-two year old boys into lofty conversations on literature, and breathe graceless defeat. Too often, we see it as obscuring vulnerability when it actually outlines it. Because really, is there anything more naked than exposing one’s desire to say something profound?