May 2015
Every fire hazard sign points the arrow at 'extreme'.
The drought has lasted several months now, clouds form and the world is left encased in midday shadow, but they just watch, never speaking up, never expelling.
Industrial sprinklers produce short burst waves in spinning circles, the grass a crop circle of pale embryonic green within it's radius; brittle fragments of bleached hay and dry dirt outside.
/
The fly the waiter gases lands on a half deflated bag causing it to buzz incredibly loudly as it chokes, making everyone uncomfortable
/
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#@000000000000091 The town is French themed, a pastiche for the tourists. it's imprinted on the crockery, see. The restaurants are all le Chinese takeaways selling Classic London Style Fish and Chips. Which i mean there's nothing wrong with i guess but it's just kinda funny in the loosely jarring kinda sense, the we-are-all-thrown-into-history,-into-ablative-cultural-efficacy-but-it's-never-quite-something-graspable-or-fixed;-never-quite-something-that-orientates-itself sense, is all i'm saying. i
mean it's a port town it makes sense they sell fish, but as all the tourists pass by and the Harbour mouth surrounding the 12 million year old magma plug breaths out the ocean ebbs up onto the rugby parks into the downtown area and breaths through all the cobblestone shop windows, It inhales, and the cars slowly waltz away from their anchorage and into the middle of the lake, which is fine because all the pedestrians have floated into the sky, hardly noticing with the sombre and tired paper-deep excitement that the tourist and holiday workers mirror at each other.
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#AAC00000121. A local restaurant and hotel owner laments to the newspaper that it's been a slow valentine day season "it's like people have forgotten what this is supposed to mean to them."
// -
....
a faint line remains marking where the magma reached up the cliff faces each time it drowned everything every few thousand millennia, everyone murmurs that it's jolly interesting, but
make indignant mewling sounds as the bubbling lava dissolves their bones.
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/ ///
.
.
. . . . .
[...ANywqay, yeah sorry. so what i was getting at was this. yeah yeah no i was! a punchline and everything! yeah! yep, ]
so
there's this one art museum a few blocks down from the main street,
that focuses on cups and mugs; beautiful antique drinking vessels uniting every place and class and history.
they change the theme occasionally, but really most of the itinerary remains the same so there's only so much they can do. currently it's
"the sublime
as manifest
in the functional and inconsequential"
these simple, life supporting tools, at once represent mans departure from nature, whilst functionally reaffirming our dependence on simple essentials. The drive to turn even these basic utensils into a reflective aesthetic process, showcases -even in primitive societies,- this emergent human drive for the sublime. This gallery hosts in equal regard the exquisite geometry of the gemmed goblets of patron kings, alongside the hand-wrought asymmetric terracotta mugs of artisan peasants. In each is the baseness of re-hydration, in each, the transcendental act of creation.
the coffee at the gift shop cafe was served in bleached polyethylene
The drought has lasted several months now, clouds form and the world is left encased in midday shadow, but they just watch, never speaking up, never expelling.
Industrial sprinklers produce short burst waves in spinning circles, the grass a crop circle of pale embryonic green within it's radius; brittle fragments of bleached hay and dry dirt outside.
/
The fly the waiter gases lands on a half deflated bag causing it to buzz incredibly loudly as it chokes, making everyone uncomfortable
/
-----------------------------------------------------------------
#@000000000000091 The town is French themed, a pastiche for the tourists. it's imprinted on the crockery, see. The restaurants are all le Chinese takeaways selling Classic London Style Fish and Chips. Which i mean there's nothing wrong with i guess but it's just kinda funny in the loosely jarring kinda sense, the we-are-all-thrown-into-history,-into-ablative-cultural-efficacy-but-it's-never-quite-something-graspable-or-fixed;-never-quite-something-that-orientates-itself sense, is all i'm saying. i
mean it's a port town it makes sense they sell fish, but as all the tourists pass by and the Harbour mouth surrounding the 12 million year old magma plug breaths out the ocean ebbs up onto the rugby parks into the downtown area and breaths through all the cobblestone shop windows, It inhales, and the cars slowly waltz away from their anchorage and into the middle of the lake, which is fine because all the pedestrians have floated into the sky, hardly noticing with the sombre and tired paper-deep excitement that the tourist and holiday workers mirror at each other.
------------------------------------------------------------------
- //
#AAC00000121. A local restaurant and hotel owner laments to the newspaper that it's been a slow valentine day season "it's like people have forgotten what this is supposed to mean to them."
// -
....
a faint line remains marking where the magma reached up the cliff faces each time it drowned everything every few thousand millennia, everyone murmurs that it's jolly interesting, but
make indignant mewling sounds as the bubbling lava dissolves their bones.
||| |||
/ ///
.
.
. . . . .
[...ANywqay, yeah sorry. so what i was getting at was this. yeah yeah no i was! a punchline and everything! yeah! yep, ]
so
there's this one art museum a few blocks down from the main street,
that focuses on cups and mugs; beautiful antique drinking vessels uniting every place and class and history.
they change the theme occasionally, but really most of the itinerary remains the same so there's only so much they can do. currently it's
"the sublime
as manifest
in the functional and inconsequential"
these simple, life supporting tools, at once represent mans departure from nature, whilst functionally reaffirming our dependence on simple essentials. The drive to turn even these basic utensils into a reflective aesthetic process, showcases -even in primitive societies,- this emergent human drive for the sublime. This gallery hosts in equal regard the exquisite geometry of the gemmed goblets of patron kings, alongside the hand-wrought asymmetric terracotta mugs of artisan peasants. In each is the baseness of re-hydration, in each, the transcendental act of creation.
the coffee at the gift shop cafe was served in bleached polyethylene
