Monday, June 16, 2014

Narcissus-X: Baleful Bandicoots; Chimeric Penguins

Monotonous beat, monotremic metronome of momentous moments long since buried beneath bales of baleful bandicoots. Bah! Narcissus-X avers adiabatic lapse rates ascending crescendos of cacophonous coliiformes.

Die Fledermaus flutters, yet Narcissus-X remains. What price flight? Whence the two pence pettifogger, and zeppelins built for two? A rose by any other name would smell up the entire back 40: but no, bunga bangkai, Sumatran sullenness, six times six; and weave a circle round him thrice; but no!

Avaunt, people from Porlock, away! Approach no more! For Narcissus-X still stands! Stands for art, sands of time, sands of time drifting slowly toward the past.

But there! Narcissus-X strains through the glare, the noise, the fluttering festoons fast fading fearfully, and beholds! The dome! The caves of ice! And the river, running straight and true as Mandelbrot's maze to caverns measureless by man, to the sunless sea.

Narcissus-X remains no more. The music loud and long sounds silently amid groves of dulcimers and broken lutes.

The river calls, the vision recedes, but no more swiftly than Narcissus-X advances: for Narcissus-X is art, Narcissus-X is artist, and Narcissus-X heeds the call; set forth once more, and pressing on sail beyond the glittering caves and shouting birds, to the sunless sea.

For it is there, deep beneath the obsidian sky, that Narcissus-X calibrates the cadence of chimeric penguins sliding swiftly toward the Acheron shore.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Plutonic Plasticity, Pattering Pizza, Penguin Peccadilloes

Agora, Rialto, Portobello Road: occidental accident of incidental commercialism. Whence shall Narcissus-X ponder pandering pattering of penguin peccadilloes? Pinochle palaces, posturing potentates, peregrinating pinnance of plutonic platitudes.

The market, the market, the market so fair: come sample, come barter, come peddle your wares! Sell art by the bushel, flair by the pound.

Narcissus-X broods.

And brooding, Narcissus-X sees: plutonic provinces of illimitable plasticity. Air and water, earth and fire: Moro saw, yet did not comprehend. Perceived, yet did not understand. Not the dark, not the night, not the aching silence of penguins taking flight. Narcissus-X sees: abyssal, unfathomable, submerged beneath compressing capstones of cognizant comprehension; the furnace of dreams, forge of fantasy, crucible of imagery.

Or did Narcissus-X have too much pizza?

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Devotees of the Euphistic Quidditer