NOTE: Following the heels of J.D.W Jr.’s brilliant series of critical exposes' on contemporary advancements in the world of literature and the arts, I set about finding and interviewing the man who inspired it all: G.X. Davis.

Ten years. One request after the next, and then it happens. Legendary author and reclusive spirit behind the post-inspirationalist movement, G.X. Davis, has at last granted me access to himself for this, his first ever interview. I was, of course, extremely grateful for G.X. Davis had been a hero of mine since I first read his two and a half page novel, Um..., at the impressionable age of twelve. Here was a man who challenged all conventions, a genius who wrote only what he felt inspired to write and ceased when that same inspiration left him. Some critics may have called him an upstart and a fool, but his new techniques were soon influencing the whole of the artistic world. Composer Vladimir Brezenski carried Davis's ideas into the music arena and wrote eight-hundred and three unfinished symphonies. Famed french artist Jacques le Fleur had been struggling for seven years on his painting “Dessin lineaire baigner” (“Stick Figure Taking A Bath”), when introduced to G.X's writings, and in a thirty second frenzy of brilliance he painted what many consider to be his masterpiece, “Le nu descendre un hamster enrage'” (“Nude Descending A Rabid Hamster”). Post-inspirationalism continued to spread like mold tentacling its way through a thick slice of week-old bread, and G.X. Davis continued to lead it. His maxim “Leave it! Leave it alone until the muse inspires once again!” was taken to heart by one and all. And there I was about to confront an icon of literature, with the entire academic community awaiting my insightful questioning of a man whose great mind had rapidly changed the course of Western culture.

When I first meet Mr. Davis, I notice that his appearance is far from bookish. He seems to be a working class Joe, with blackened hands; more likely from motor oil than from dark writing ink.

RL: I'd like to thank you again for giving me this opportunity. (G.X. smiles and admits he has a lot of things to say, things that he would like to have cleared up. I suggest we start by discussing the beginnings of the post-inspirationalist movement. He shakes his head slowly and speaks.)

GX: I guess all this madness started when I sent off my first story to a
Canadian literary journal called The Tinpot. I was young, stupid really, so I felt a great deal of excitement when my story was immediately accepted, but when it was published there must have been a mistake of some sort because the first and last pages were left off. Critics went wild. (He rolls his eyes.) If I had know then what that day would lead to, I'd have become a hairstylist like my father wanted me to be.

RL: Now was this the story “Creativity Stifled? Bah!” ?

GX: No, this was “Leopardskin Man”. It was God-awful to begin with, then they leave out two pages and it ends up making no sense whatsoever. I just couldn't understand what everyone was praising. I tried writing more stories but they kept getting rejected, so I decided to write the stupidest thing I could think of just to see if it would be published. Now that was “Creativity Stifled? Bah!”.

RL: It's obvious that you're a tough critic of your work, but I believe “CS?B!” to be one of the finest examples of belles-lettres ever written. Do you mind if I read it out loud?

GX: I really wish you wouldn't.

RL: Oh, don't be so modest. (I bring out a copy of his book and read.)

I was born to be a poet. Not a very good poet mind you, but a poet none the less. I was also born to be a homicidal maniac. Again, not a very good homicidal maniac, but a homicidal maniac none the less. Occasionally my killing sprees affected my poetic sensibilities....

(I finish reading and look at G.X. His eyes are closed and his face is scrunched up in a painful look of pride.)

GX: God, that story is disgusting!

RL: Disgusting? That story is great! I love how the reader is immediately introduced to the character and the tragic conflict that envelops his or her life. A classic tale of the inner torment of an artistically sensitive psychopath. The duality of mankind has never been represented better. A lesser author would have continued after the word “sensibilities” but you end it, thus never letting the reader down by the brilliant promise you give them in the beginning. (I notice that G.X., like all writers, possesses unique eccentricities. For example, one can always tell when G.X. is in a good mood; his face turns dark red, his brow furrows, and he squints his eyes. Many would mistake this for a look of confusion or anger, but being an expert on Davis, I know better.)

GX: That's, uh, nice of you to say, but really, the story is trash. The only reason there isn't a word following “sensibilities” is because I couldn't think of one. There's no brilliance in it because all I was typing was nonsense. (I notice several veins popping out of the side of his head, so it's obvious he is enjoying our little analytical discussion of his writings.)

RL: That's a good one G.X. (I laugh.)

GX: Listen, I think we need to straighten something out about...

RL: Can we talk about your reclusiveness?

GX: Well...I can tell you this, it's all because of this post-inspirationalism nonsense. Hell, I don't even remember an inspirationalist movement, so how did we get to post inspirationalism? I mean, the last thing I want to be known for is starting this craze, not to mention all the balmies who won't leave me alone. I had much different aspirations for my writing career, you can believe that!

RL: Did you, by any chance, happen to meet the other giants of the post-inspirationalist movement before your self-imposed reclusion? Say
Vladimir Brezenski or Jacques “the flower” le Fleur?

GX: I never met Brezenski, nor would I want to. Anyone who writes thirty seconds worth of unlistenable music, calls it a symphony, then writes the exact same tune and calls it his second symphony is a bloomin' nutcase in my humble opinion. I did meet le Fleur though, but only because I had him arrested for painting my trouser leg blue. I probably wouldn't have made such a big deal about it except I happened to be in the trousers at the time.

RL: I always heard that le Fleur was a great practical joker. I would have loved to see him pull that one prank he was so famous for at parties.

GX: Which one was that?

RL: The one he'd always pull, the one where he'd shout “Hey everybody,
look at me!” and then suddenly burst into flames and die. That must have been a riot to watch.

GX: I believe he pulled that gag just once.

RL: Oh. Can I ask you about your contributions to post-inspirationalist
criticism and were you and le Fleur ever lovers?

GX: What? (I notice G.X.'s breathing becoming more rapid.)

RL: Post-inspirationalist criticisim, what were your contributions?

GX: Now look here, (he squirms in his chair) I don't know who you think you are, but we need to get something straight!

RL: That's fine, now about your critique of F. Scott Fitzgerald, what did you mean when you wrote “true writers, like myself, are born with genius while hacks, like Scott, are the guys who have to struggle for words or phrases.”

GX: Why that's ridiculous! I'd never write anything so moronic. You know, I think it might be time for you to leave.

RL: Did Brezenski jilt you? Is that why you hate him so? (G.X.'s hands clench tightly and spittle begins to form at the corners of his mouth, all obvious signs that inside he must be laughing like crazy, and I am impressed with how he tries to keep the atmosphere serious when discussing his work. He gets out of his chair, grabs me by the shirt and throws me against the wall, and I'm amazed to see just how much fury
and passion he brings to literature.)

RL: Want to hear about an epic poem I'm writing on Catherine the Great?
I'm titling it The Divine Commode.

GX: No I don't! And I'd like you to leave now! (He grabs a hold of my neck and attempts to shove me out his door, but I cling on maintaining my professionalism.)

RL: The title's all I've got right now, but thanks to you and the post-inspirationalist movement that's all I need, thank God too, because one, I don't know how to write epic poems and two, I'd have to do research on Catherine, and frankly, I don't want to. I mean really, I'm a creative writer. Why should I do research?

And with that, G.X. Davis slams the door in my face, and I stand witness to the grand philosophy he exudes. Like so many of his great stories that are cut short in mid sentence, G. X., a man no longer inspired to respond to my questions, cuts short our talk in mid-interview. But I am convinced that scholars will be pleased with the words he spoke today, and in them find greater meaning for his work. I'm also sure that these words will inspire thousands of post-inspirationalists for years to come. And for that, we'd all like to give our thanks. So thank you G.X., and may your writings last forever.