Problems with Reality
As I turned, the world around me altered abruptly; vehicles, buildings and the people that operated and maintained them became transparent, and somehow time itself seemed to speed up. The ghostly remains of once tangible people flittered before my eyes, leaving behind them faint echoes that slowly faded into nothingness. That which was corporeal now appeared as if rendered in spirit. I thought at once of the charlatan, Crowley, and his Magick, but quickly dismissed the notion that such a man could bear any relationship with the truth now being revealed before my eyes: that reality was not as it seemed.
Turning further, my eyes alighted on the man. His left arm, raised in an almost defensive posture, was encased in some kind of satanic machine. I could see little wisps of steam rising from the elbow joint and a subtle orange glow that hinted at the incredible furnace that must lurk somewhere within. Only God knows what strange powers might be required to build such a device; as advanced as our science was at that time, it seemed to me inadequate for such artifice. I had, however, no doubt that this machine was the cause of my abstraction from the material plane and that this man must be confronted, before all that we held dear became lost.
I composed myself, stood tall, and approached the man.
“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Barry.”
Twelve hand-held exposures representing thirty seconds of March 26th, 2019. Shot at the Victorian Brickworks Museum, Bursledon.
NB. You’ll no doubt be pleased to learn that Barry holds no sinister plans concerning the ultimate fate of the universe; he is, in fact, a cake designer.
Usual caveats etc.
Problems with Reality
As I turned, the world around me altered abruptly; vehicles, buildings and the people that operated and maintained them became transparent, and somehow time itself seemed to speed up. The ghostly remains of once tangible people flittered before my eyes, leaving behind them faint echoes that slowly faded into nothingness. That which was corporeal now appeared as if rendered in spirit. I thought at once of the charlatan, Crowley, and his Magick, but quickly dismissed the notion that such a man could bear any relationship with the truth now being revealed before my eyes: that reality was not as it seemed.
Turning further, my eyes alighted on the man. His left arm, raised in an almost defensive posture, was encased in some kind of satanic machine. I could see little wisps of steam rising from the elbow joint and a subtle orange glow that hinted at the incredible furnace that must lurk somewhere within. Only God knows what strange powers might be required to build such a device; as advanced as our science was at that time, it seemed to me inadequate for such artifice. I had, however, no doubt that this machine was the cause of my abstraction from the material plane and that this man must be confronted, before all that we held dear became lost.
I composed myself, stood tall, and approached the man.
“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Barry.”
Twelve hand-held exposures representing thirty seconds of March 26th, 2019. Shot at the Victorian Brickworks Museum, Bursledon.
NB. You’ll no doubt be pleased to learn that Barry holds no sinister plans concerning the ultimate fate of the universe; he is, in fact, a cake designer.
Usual caveats etc.