Rack and Marcel with a Very Young Dolly
What happens in Infrathin...
It wasn't like this hadn't happened an infinite number of times before, as if there wasn't an ever-evolving pattern. This seemed to be true of everything and everything else. This was life itself burgeoning, and they sensed its pulsing. It was that very fabric. It was both the weaving and the unpicking in tandem, like breathing out and breathing in.
James, being guided by Marcel, moved around the space, that hotel room, and slowly began to allow the changes to just happen. It was true that he hadn't 'taken off' yet, but he knew he was in 'the ready position'. He was taxiing. Even that pregnant state was exhilarating. He remembered that song, 'oh sweet mystery of life at last i found you", sung by Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald, and laughed. That 'Naughty Marietta', I do swear, he guffawed.
He wondered how he could remember something that hadn't even happened yet. Trace memory seemed to move backwards and forwards, like omnidirectional 'déjà vus'.
He noticed that they were changing back and forth into each other, sometimes being caught in-between themselves, ‘twixt and ‘tween, becoming someone else even, hybrids of sorts.
That ‘someone’ could even stutter into being ‘something’else.
Everyone they ever knew, and didn’t know, was there.
That Penelope broad, picking apart her knot, knew what she was up to. She would moan, and fly, as well. As if she hadn't done so a billion times already, and more, whilst weaving.
Seven: Some very intriguing surrealist/film noir versions here...but then these works are perhaps existentially a timeshifting detective story.
Ruin: For the most part, I have no idea what they are going to be up to when I wake up, or indeed what they have done whilst I slept. They continue to surprise me. My desk here is covered in their words and images, and there are also quite a few of my own.
Yes, we would appear to be a time-shifty bunch.
Rack and Marcel with a Very Young Dolly
What happens in Infrathin...
It wasn't like this hadn't happened an infinite number of times before, as if there wasn't an ever-evolving pattern. This seemed to be true of everything and everything else. This was life itself burgeoning, and they sensed its pulsing. It was that very fabric. It was both the weaving and the unpicking in tandem, like breathing out and breathing in.
James, being guided by Marcel, moved around the space, that hotel room, and slowly began to allow the changes to just happen. It was true that he hadn't 'taken off' yet, but he knew he was in 'the ready position'. He was taxiing. Even that pregnant state was exhilarating. He remembered that song, 'oh sweet mystery of life at last i found you", sung by Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald, and laughed. That 'Naughty Marietta', I do swear, he guffawed.
He wondered how he could remember something that hadn't even happened yet. Trace memory seemed to move backwards and forwards, like omnidirectional 'déjà vus'.
He noticed that they were changing back and forth into each other, sometimes being caught in-between themselves, ‘twixt and ‘tween, becoming someone else even, hybrids of sorts.
That ‘someone’ could even stutter into being ‘something’else.
Everyone they ever knew, and didn’t know, was there.
That Penelope broad, picking apart her knot, knew what she was up to. She would moan, and fly, as well. As if she hadn't done so a billion times already, and more, whilst weaving.
Seven: Some very intriguing surrealist/film noir versions here...but then these works are perhaps existentially a timeshifting detective story.
Ruin: For the most part, I have no idea what they are going to be up to when I wake up, or indeed what they have done whilst I slept. They continue to surprise me. My desk here is covered in their words and images, and there are also quite a few of my own.
Yes, we would appear to be a time-shifty bunch.