an explanation (an attempt)
Jan 18 at 11:36am
I am playing a little game. It is unfolding before us. I am shading in the details, creating nooks and crannies and filling them with light. Remember that this is just an image. Consciously crafted, reflective but not representative.(another post coming shortly)
A sliver of my soul vanishes into the sucking mouths of my headphones; as a temporary respite from the existential dread inherent in this faded spinning-top of an apartment, the impatient application of oil-black nail polish to twitchy digits might be a questionable enterprise. No answers are forthcoming, only a rose bowl of queries is offered up as a response to a frowning face watching the screen. The drippy dark ritual continues with a soundtrack stitched from whispery auto-analysis and the impudent lunges of hypnotic leggings whose design boasts a predatory visual gravity. My fly-brain is dragged into the thigh graphics as if it were prettily spun by an opportunistic arachnid with a penchant for German expressionism. The descent is halted by those distracting blurs of waggling hands, applying a second wayward coating of funereal vinyl. The bad habit penalty tub swims into view with raw thumb-knuckle presented for the caress of a polaroid photo that will never come. The desolation tour of the claustrophobic interior commences with the torn wall and proceeds like a drained carousel with bobbing horses replaced by sagging dressers, an unlit pyre of discarded clothing, puppy dog tape, near obsolete AV tech and a drawer stuffed rigid with a surfeit of sex toys. Then, the obligation to stare at the punishment floor demands fulfilment. The murmurs and mutterings turn to excoriating confession; my eyes are imprisoned by the penitentiary potential of stained boards acting like sorrow sponges. There's no alternative to almost choking on a second-hand angst pill; I must exist within this realm where I can feel you thinking while the disembodied utterances of vulgar spectres bubble up from between the brutal floorboards like bitter froth. The final flamboyant flashes of coherence are doppler images flashing against the mean surface of a rendition cell; a diminutive black-heart tattoo and grit-thrown rain drops that threaten to crack the window pane both inside and out. This clip is thrilling in its disorienting intensity, my gums are throbbing and my teeth are itching but the hit is well worth it.