Allow the nights intelligence to drift in and through your headdress, removing feathers that hold to much weight, moon whispers under spoke and wheel, lights gathering dust. Allow the days intelligence to break your slumber, sun scattering leaves, dreams piled to high upon your shoulders.
This is how we walk in and through the two towers, the darkness holds the candle as much as the light retains its shadow. It is in the space between that we may find truth.
Image by: Unknown
The virtual becomes the actual, upon the axis of a screen never tilted away from the viewing lens, of that deadening eye, blood soaked, weeping, puss lurking from its cataract tombs. As the dead digital fish lay rancid and rotting on the banks of river never meeting the sea. Pixelated bits of information starving for that color of green that was forgotten in its re-visioning, the smell of an hour gone by in the backyard with the whip of the wind through the trees and smoke in the fire, simple worship of a memory never had. As the arc of and measure of our trees are now stacked upon servers rooted in the banks of a dissonant integrity. Polyform integrated values of language morph symbols into the actual, not unlike our ancestors that first scribed letters on the dark stone walls. The ever changing appearance of a world insulated and enslaved by its way of self-directed communications. Not that we should stop talking, but rather that occasionally we should also attempt in listening, without giving it a name, but allowing to enter our hearts and become known in a language that will not be so easy to speak of, but that may allow us to see ourselves before the path. Walking out again from our cave.
Image by: Unknown Alchemist
Rage. Rage, at the burning disc, the fire light, yet bow, bow to the soft, the reflective light of the moon.
Image by: Cody Cobb, Cascadia II
Trying to get to the point of our own existence, we find ourselves here at the bleeding edge of our development. Cut from the same cloth, yet we stand divided. Held sternly upon the grindstone, as it warps and dulls our senses, of who we are, where we are and where we may be going. Yet the smooth stone of the earth still patiently awaits to refine our shape, to give us balance, so we may maintain the gravity of our position and reestablish our place. To witness the reflections of our lives as we move about freely upon this vast surface.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Yang Yongliang