 This story is actually from a collection that I've been working on of linked stories for a long time and Moazam was kind enough to really support me from the beginning. He's seen the arc of that collection so I want to thank Moazam again for not only being so supportive of you know the South Asian diasporic community and writers but also to experimental writing in particular. One never knows with experimental writing exactly how it's going to be received and that's part of what's exciting about it but it can also be very challenging. With this particular story from the collection it was one that has seen many kinds of transformations as the theme is also of the story and it really started because I think a lot about place as a love letter to the Bronx where I grew up and in particular for this story and other stories that I have I think a lot about what it has meant to be a South Asian from a middle class diaspora growing up in a borough that is very working class and very very black in particular African American and so that really fed into thinking about the form and the collage of the story and the breakthrough really came when I took an experimental cross genre workshop and then started adding these other layers. So I'll just read from the the middle a few sections and I'll start with dance act four. Dance act four stage glows gold but as Bambuna grows and steps one two three glows red show an arrogant man seated on the back screen walk in on your knees taking tiny steps gripping an imaginary handle with the left hand forming an umbrella cover with the right hand standing head bent before the audience sweep your arms in a circle and rise first your right leg then your left leg fisting your hips lunge forth with power right one left two but on the third step lift your right leg with the toes pointed straight down and slowly drop your leg till the big toe touches the stage keep your head up for this finale moment is an act of mercy stop five the site of crime the point of brilliance you found gold carnage on the pavement necklaces and bracelets and rings leading like Dorothy's road around the block fake stuff you figured so you grabbed what you could from looters and melted enough for one gold arm your mannequins moneymaker holding a trowel the way you do when you're cementing one gold tile than another the thing about gold tiling is each tile shines a different spot of light so the arm ripples to muscle when you walk around the Byzantines did this used walls of gold to background dark eyed men to make them come alive they knew the luster of yellow why art should say decadent things even when it was holy 15 centuries between those walls and you but right away those images are your own solemn Jewish faces formal stances of Russian and Indian immigrants the gold in the darkness that are Bronx summer nights the dead speak though apparently not everyone listens a night like this you found a loose train label the number two in a big green circle you pasted it on your mannequins chest for half the beats lost underground the next night the next night you found a photo you and your parents at a street fair days before they crashed another two goes up beside the first suddenly you can't stop scavenging the city for what it's done a silver scrap from the car wreck off the major Deegan fish scales from the Fulton market walk green streamers from the st patty's day parade you paste them all square by square a city map exploding on your junk heap find norohing ha the only other avatar who could give norohing ha a run for his money is gulky the avatar yet to come brandishing a thunder sword and riding on a white horse in the gulla yuga or dark age to save the people from themselves gulky who might as well come now but what we've got is norohing ha who outwitted power that looks as maniacal as it does now a niche and king who thought he could out god god he commanded the people to worship him alone and when his son a pure hearted thing refused the king prepared to kill his own blood and because the gods slash powers that be had blessed this king with impunity he couldn't be killed by man or animal day or night on land or sea god came at dusk spanks that king on his human lap and tore him open with his lion claws and the little brown boy who had been put in the juvie of his age spring out vindicated mischievous free dance act five the stage glows red cast a fire on the back screen slide and sweeping arcs of the legs to the center pounce into wide stance as if in a Maori Haka raise your arms like a body shield fingers curved into claws your face must go into Kali Durga all the warrior goddess is ever mode eyes wide nostrils flaring tongue out breathe fire as you and Bijou stand one leg do not totter do not laugh the audience might this is one gesture of fear they may even fall asleep this is another thank you