Brendan Frye’s on a case. He’s aggravating existing
conflicts, drawing people out into the open despite being conditioned to small
places. In his composure and his words he makes Dashiell Hammett’s hard-boiled world three
dimensional, whose immortality is now his mortality. He can touch the sadness everywhere. School yard and
athletic field draped in silence under a grey and scratched sky. His mind is like spools, between which his memories of her pass
and wind. He presses play, his memory moves in one direction, while life
moves in the other. He presses stop, and he flips it, plays the other side…back
and forth until the tape threatens to feed noise and snap. This case is the most personal. It’s the one that threatens
to expose him. Shadows murmur and hum. Dreams are held together with only invented
textures and instruments. It’s his need to find out that keeps him ticking. He decided at the start, this case is no different to a
Rubik’s Cube. It's no easy pickings but it’s not insoluble. Its nature can be learned. Algorithms can be
made of it just the same. He just needs to keep all five senses. Get just enough
sleep.
