The Treasure Hunt.
One of my least popular novels, Citymuse, is about a veteran who, Back from too many stints at war, is stuck in an unfeeling zone where he slowly loses touch with all his friends. One such (close to ex) friend, who gets lost in a small territorial drug skirmish, leaves nothing but a handful of clues instead of a body. The protagonist, the veteran that is, sets off to find out what is going on and soon realizes that the search is as futile as his life has turned out.
Sad work, though I think it’s at least thoughtful, and will tease out of you much cogitation. But my point isn’t this novel of mine. Instead let me discuss how art intersects with life and how I found myself on a treasure hunt to find some gold and truth.
Now I know what you’re thinking, that those two things are like oil and water, or perhaps you’re thinking that the truth does not exist. Let me explain, for I’m speaking somewhat metaphorically. But only somewhat. My treasure hunt happened a few months ago. The gold was bitcoin in a hard drive worth over a million dollars, its owner ostensibly disappeared by the Stasi elements of our government, and therein lay the truth for which he was disappeared on that very same hard drive.
How did I come across this information? And was I being duped by a Nigerian Prince email scam? There’s no telling in this day and age, but I first stumbled across this information on…
