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[Collab] epimetheus and -xxx- present "-/un/spoke n-" (1 Viewer)

-xXx-

Financial Supporter
for your perusal:

-unspoke n-


Flowery arcs, decorated pillars, footsteps echoing in a vast hall. Welcome to the Art Gallery. Take the left wing, come visit the trapped muse.

First painting. Hunters in the snow, 1565. Lungs burning, inhale and exhale sublimated. Limbs encased in ice. A crack, she knew that crack. Hope? Maybe this time.
They are leaving now, guided by the wise one who knows, who talks. But doesn’t see the fairy. Past the hallowed tomes that line corridors. Time as a bookshelf, skipping through fairytales, overburdened with compound monomythery.
On to brick and mortar. No, not a dead end, the latest in post-modernist interpretism. Is it just a wall? You decide. The fairy is here too, and the wall is all too real. No one can see past the meaning to what is really there. Cobwebs collect in corners. They see. The guide doesn’t see meaning either, but his eyes linger a little longer than usual.
The next painting is a song. Wind plays pipes, the ocean percussion. Seaside Cave, 2017. But they don’t hear it, only does the troll under the bridge. Strata swirls in the rocks cut a Plutchik palette chart; what colour is your emotion? From blue to green, but not yellow. Never serenity. But if she could make rage meet terror in a flash of white they would see. Did he see? They leave in the wake of his words.
Echo interference deforms and transforms within one tunnel gallery. Doppler dampens, in passing:
“…did you see the butterfly? I thought I saw it wink. Imagine, a painting that winks…”
“The landscape? The pastoral with the stream? It had a butterfly?”
THIS SECTION IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION. But sprites grow fat on Campbell’s soup.
More modernista. Watch as reflections talk in hanging glass, reel of ever ending which does not. Mentally trace someone’s brush strokes behind glass, as if.
“I don’t know. There’s something different about it.”
…wings…winks…streams…scape…odd…grasp…
“Yeah, odd.”
From peripheral phantoms to tip of the tongue, none can articulate what they are witnessing. And unspoken is unseen. They move on, leaving behind red on the palette wheel. A mandala.
Listen. Look, watch. Embrace the full sensory experience. Patience. Having walked past the same tree for 20 years can you see something different the next time? Buddhists watch their breath.
“Well.”
Inhale.
Begin a slow trek back to the entrance.
Smile, walk, nod as needed.


“Who hangs a work like that out in the open? No placard, no central placement. You are an organisers nightmare. Brilliant, but a nightmare all the same,” said the organizer eyeing the cracks in the wall.
The docent was too puzzled to answer. He hadn’t placed them, how could he have? The building was too old for it to be settling brickwork. The patterns were too precise to be random, but the form was just at the edge of his understanding. He was sure he heard whispering…
Of course he did, this was an Art Gallery, everyone whispered. Speaking of which, here comes the next tour group.


Eyes linger a moment longer. Focus shifts, exploring new dimensions. She hears the crack of it beyond folder edges and inhales despite the too familiar burn. The wheel turns. Everything is the same. Everything is different. Next time he will hear.
 

Foxee

Patron
Patron
I wasn't entirely sure what to expect with the xXx + epimetheus team but I'm finding it delightful and I'd love to see how this ends. Reiterating here in case you miss it in the other thread but if you ever want to finish it just do it. No time limit. I'd love to see this realized.

There's a surreal quality and a sense of wonder with this piece. You had me with the winking butterfly.

Marvelous. Thank you.
 

-xXx-

Financial Supporter
i have a great deal of respect for life as it happens.

having said that,
and having some additional information
about this work in process,
i encourage every writer to do at least one collaboration.

a few bits that may get one poet's napo2021 attention:
No one can see past the meaning to what is really there.
But sprites grow fat on Campbell’s soup.
(especially in combo with the immediately preceeding sentence)

perhaps as the year progresses,
opportunity will arise to further develop this specific fiction.
perhaps other really important work
will require full creative attentions.
at any rate,
this experience remains a delight.

yes.
epimetheus is a gifted creative.
imo.
many thanks
for suggesting and supporting this style of challenge,
and
quality participation in spite of constraints.

best,
;)
 

epimetheus

Friends of WF
Apologies to xXx for flaking out halfway through.

What can i say? THIS SECTION IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Gotta say, writing this was probably as trippy as reading it is. I'm still not sure what it's about, but something's there...
 
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