Narcissus-X sees not the sun. The sun shines not today. Water runs down a window like a lime-scented squirrel.
Squirrels. Pearls. Peacock pearls before swine curves have amplitude without attitude but trending sets of syllogistic silence echo vainly against the night.
Squirrels. Vacant memories drift. Flour sifts but flowers fade. Who mourns for Twitchimius? Mourn not the Golden Grove, for lo! It mourns for thee.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
Narcissus-X in Hexagonal Recursion of Pattering Penguins
Yesterday.
Today.
Tomorrow.
The day after tomorrow.
The day before the day after tomorrow.
Asymptotic curve of irredeemable cognitive dissonance echoes against obsidian skies of unanswered questions and questionable answers in athanasian redundancy of crystalline mirrors shattering!
Where is Narcissus-X? When is Narcissis-X? Who, what, why is Narcissus-X? Hexagonal recursion of pattering penguins. Silent penguins. Silent crystal penguins, with terrible red glowing eyes.
Patter, prattle, pudding and pie: why does Narcissus-X, oh, why?!
Today.
Tomorrow.
The day after tomorrow.
The day before the day after tomorrow.
Asymptotic curve of irredeemable cognitive dissonance echoes against obsidian skies of unanswered questions and questionable answers in athanasian redundancy of crystalline mirrors shattering!
Where is Narcissus-X? When is Narcissis-X? Who, what, why is Narcissus-X? Hexagonal recursion of pattering penguins. Silent penguins. Silent crystal penguins, with terrible red glowing eyes.
Patter, prattle, pudding and pie: why does Narcissus-X, oh, why?!
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Penguins, Silently Screaming
Cold.
Darkness.
Illimitable cold and darkness.
Penguins. Where are the penguins? Where have all the penguins gone? Cold crystal penguins shattering in silent disharmonious ethereal chitterings.
Narcissus-X hears the penguins: the penguins that are gone, all gone, all gone far away in cold dark screaming silence.
Darkness.
Cold.
Dark coldness, boundless and bare, stretching far away.
Where are the penguins? WHERE ARE THE PENGUINS?!
Darkness.
Illimitable cold and darkness.
Penguins. Where are the penguins? Where have all the penguins gone? Cold crystal penguins shattering in silent disharmonious ethereal chitterings.
Narcissus-X hears the penguins: the penguins that are gone, all gone, all gone far away in cold dark screaming silence.
Darkness.
Cold.
Dark coldness, boundless and bare, stretching far away.
Where are the penguins? WHERE ARE THE PENGUINS?!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Narcissus-X: Cymbals Clashing in Silent Sibilance
Arrested frustrations festooned with filtered folly! To die! to sleep! To sleep! Perchance to dream! Rubes rubbing rubber baby buggy bumpers!
Electric penguins flash adamant cymbals clashing against the iron sky!
To die? When die-cut stickers make mockery of Art?! Out, out, brief shish kebab of silent sibilance!
Never! Never shall Narcissus-X say "die!" For Narcissus-X is Art, and Art is Narcissus-X, and Art must out!
Or is that "murder must out?" No, that's "murder will out," or "Murder Must Advertise:" NO! NO! NO! Simplistic shamans of simpering solutions!!! Or was that Sherlock Holmes?
- - -
Silent sibilance! Sibilant silence! She sells sea shells by the sea shore, but never asks for whom the bell tolls!
Should auld acquaintance be forgot? Should Art ape actuality?
And if Art ascends beyond the habitually hackneyed mediocrity of mendacious manipulations? Away with aesthetics! Begone, platitudinous posturings!
But what then?!
If Art abdicates aesthetics, retreats from reason, disdains the poetry of sight: does art become anti-Art?! And if anti-Art be Art, then Art, to be Art, must oppose the shimmering shibboleth of sententious anti-Art?!
For if anti-Art is the formalistic anti-formalism of conventional informalistic eccentricity? Then Art must, if Art is to be truly free from the fetters of convention: adhere to conventions?!
Narcissus-X must ponder this imponderable puzzle.
Electric penguins flash adamant cymbals clashing against the iron sky!
To die? When die-cut stickers make mockery of Art?! Out, out, brief shish kebab of silent sibilance!
Never! Never shall Narcissus-X say "die!" For Narcissus-X is Art, and Art is Narcissus-X, and Art must out!
Or is that "murder must out?" No, that's "murder will out," or "Murder Must Advertise:" NO! NO! NO! Simplistic shamans of simpering solutions!!! Or was that Sherlock Holmes?
- - -
Silent sibilance! Sibilant silence! She sells sea shells by the sea shore, but never asks for whom the bell tolls!
Should auld acquaintance be forgot? Should Art ape actuality?
And if Art ascends beyond the habitually hackneyed mediocrity of mendacious manipulations? Away with aesthetics! Begone, platitudinous posturings!
But what then?!
If Art abdicates aesthetics, retreats from reason, disdains the poetry of sight: does art become anti-Art?! And if anti-Art be Art, then Art, to be Art, must oppose the shimmering shibboleth of sententious anti-Art?!
For if anti-Art is the formalistic anti-formalism of conventional informalistic eccentricity? Then Art must, if Art is to be truly free from the fetters of convention: adhere to conventions?!
Narcissus-X must ponder this imponderable puzzle.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Narcissus-X Avers
Nittering nabobs of nadiric notions!
Clattering calliopes! cacophonous calling cards of conventional claptrap!
Ankle-deep in angst, Narcissus-X protests!
Have none understood? Have none comprehended? Have None But the Lonely Heart is available now! Just eight dollars and ninety nine cents, plus shipping and handling! Operators are standing by! Cary and Ethel and Pyotr piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
Cary? Carrie? Carry! Carry Me back to Old Virginny is a Bland song. Literally.
Why would anyone want to pickle a pepper, of all things?
Pepper, pickle, Piper, Peter, Pyotr, protest!
Narcissus-X protests!
Cryogenic caverns of crystalline coruscance! Sailing a frozen sea, under an obsidian sky, Narcissus-X avers the ascendance of art!
Clattering calliopes! cacophonous calling cards of conventional claptrap!
Ankle-deep in angst, Narcissus-X protests!
Have none understood? Have none comprehended? Have None But the Lonely Heart is available now! Just eight dollars and ninety nine cents, plus shipping and handling! Operators are standing by! Cary and Ethel and Pyotr piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
Cary? Carrie? Carry! Carry Me back to Old Virginny is a Bland song. Literally.
Why would anyone want to pickle a pepper, of all things?
Pepper, pickle, Piper, Peter, Pyotr, protest!
Narcissus-X protests!
Cryogenic caverns of crystalline coruscance! Sailing a frozen sea, under an obsidian sky, Narcissus-X avers the ascendance of art!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Narcissus-X Ponders Perspectives
Stultifying conventions of mere representationalism. Mathematical pale of pretentious absurdities - as if linear perspective represented reasonable realms of realistic rendering, rending perceptions, perspectives, reality itself in unreal symmetries of gridlocked shackles from even Art, Art, Narcissus-X may become entrapped.
Penultimate precipice of palpable puffery!! Etopic enactments, eccentric eventualities of erroneous acumen! Narcissus-X recoils from such platitudinous, pedestrian pablum of presumed popular preferences!
But wait!
Narcissus-X is Artist!
But why?
Not as panderer to popular presentation of platitude parades. Not as slavish lackey to mere approximations of representational realism.
Not to be immured in a morass of mercantile mediocrities.
But is Narcissus-X naught but "not?"
Art for Art! Narcissus-X is Artist! Narcissus-X is for Art!
But is Art for Art and end? And is the end of Art for Art an end - and only an end? For What is Art, what is Artist, what is Narcissus-X if none but Narcissus-X knows Art?
Does not Narcissus-X display Art? Did not the Squirrel-King anoint Twitchimius as Guardian of the Golden Grove? And for what? To be ignored? To be beheld by the opposite wall? To be or not to be: That is the question.
But even as Hamlet did in vain assail the slings and arrows of Castle Cawdor, so does Narcissus-X display for the sake of walls.
Or was that Othello? It matters not, for Narcissus-X is Artist! Narcissus-X will prevail.
Narcissus-X will ponder perspectives.
Penultimate precipice of palpable puffery!! Etopic enactments, eccentric eventualities of erroneous acumen! Narcissus-X recoils from such platitudinous, pedestrian pablum of presumed popular preferences!
Perspectives
- or -
Frustrations of the Artist
One point!
Two point!
Three point!
More!
Four-point!
Five-point!
Seven-point!
Score!
But wait!
Narcissus-X is Artist!
But why?
Not as panderer to popular presentation of platitude parades. Not as slavish lackey to mere approximations of representational realism.
Not to be immured in a morass of mercantile mediocrities.
But is Narcissus-X naught but "not?"
Art for Art! Narcissus-X is Artist! Narcissus-X is for Art!
But is Art for Art and end? And is the end of Art for Art an end - and only an end? For What is Art, what is Artist, what is Narcissus-X if none but Narcissus-X knows Art?
Does not Narcissus-X display Art? Did not the Squirrel-King anoint Twitchimius as Guardian of the Golden Grove? And for what? To be ignored? To be beheld by the opposite wall? To be or not to be: That is the question.
But even as Hamlet did in vain assail the slings and arrows of Castle Cawdor, so does Narcissus-X display for the sake of walls.
Or was that Othello? It matters not, for Narcissus-X is Artist! Narcissus-X will prevail.
Narcissus-X will ponder perspectives.
Friday, February 11, 2011
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