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Shalom & Salaam
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We walk as they walked. Amore, more, ore, re A questioning time Devastated. Surmise
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Hewn
Still more images. I just reach out and they are there. Vast machines, transient images of a transhuman future, some scenes of ancient ruins. There is enough here to write a world around or to draw a book. And I cannot capture it. When I put it on the page, it loses some essential glamour. Glamour in the old sense of the word, enchantment or magic spark. I have to try anyway.
Long stem, thorned like a rose. The thorns sprout into little roots, almost just rhizomes. The roots splay out like dendrites, flowing smoothly into rainbow strands of fiber optic wire that spiral up around the stem. Like some demented barber's shingle. Spooling up, more and more from each thorn until the head of the stem is obscured, the bud hidden by a spider's cacoon of silken glass.
A dusty cityscape, with rocks growing in the sidewalk cracks. The shivering buildings huddle together and the dull orange sky gives no warmth. I am reminded of Beksinski's work, but the detail is more refined. More substantial. Thick dusty that doesn't stir in the wind, maybe because it is too heavy. Cobalt dust, death dust, hugging the city's corpse like a disappointed lover. And all through the city, there is the clink of keys. The subtle scrabble of pins and patterns. It comes out of runes that look like norse. Bitten into the sides of the buildings. The light gets stronger as the sun spreads its light well across the horizon through changed air. The shadows fade in the dull amber of diffused light, air refracting enough to act almost like water. The light pours instead of shining.
so many other pictures, stories, images. Sounds now, even. They are polite about intruding, or I'd think I was schizophrenic. But they aren't visions, just bits laying in the corners of my head.
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D-rev.
