Huh? Not making any sense? Because of the nature of these little flash fiction vignettes, I thought it would be helpful to index previous back stories and journal entries. Although Artiste’s tales are non-linear, it can help to read some pages in groups by threads of associated content. Of course you could just read them randomly, and trust that it will all come together at some point.
The beginning back story is always a great place to start:
• The Artiste Gullible back story
For this particular installment it also may help to read: (Something random?)
↓ Transcript
[image] A picture of a beautiful cat-like woman with duel moons hanging above the horizon.
[text] I once spent three months on an ocean planet with four moons and two suns. The orbital mechanics of the various heavenly bodies bathed the grassy archipelagos around its equator in a perpetual sunset. While my accommodations were exceptional (a cabin overlooking an ocean painted in hues unknown to me before, or since,) I secretly prayed for the reprieve of the push.
Upon arrival in this world of supposed paradisiacal splendor, I was immediately immersed in a song. The inhabitants of this planet spoke, or rather communicated, in a cantor that crept along the edge of lyrical epiphany. It flowed through me, this song of life, penetrating my bones. My soul reverberated with a truth so sublime that its crippling beauty filled me with tears of joy, or sadness, or fear, or love. A truth so pure that I experienced these tears as the unified overwhelming fountain of all meaning.
When I spoke, however, the inhabitants cowered in pain.
My words on this planet, fell from my lips in the guttural half-truths of normal everyday communication. My common porcine grunts were laced with the muddy dishwater of white lies, and subjective agendas; a constant repressed reflection of myself that I could not wait to escape.
[text] I once spent three months on an ocean planet with four moons and two suns. The orbital mechanics of the various heavenly bodies bathed the grassy archipelagos around its equator in a perpetual sunset. While my accommodations were exceptional (a cabin overlooking an ocean painted in hues unknown to me before, or since,) I secretly prayed for the reprieve of the push.
Upon arrival in this world of supposed paradisiacal splendor, I was immediately immersed in a song. The inhabitants of this planet spoke, or rather communicated, in a cantor that crept along the edge of lyrical epiphany. It flowed through me, this song of life, penetrating my bones. My soul reverberated with a truth so sublime that its crippling beauty filled me with tears of joy, or sadness, or fear, or love. A truth so pure that I experienced these tears as the unified overwhelming fountain of all meaning.
When I spoke, however, the inhabitants cowered in pain.
My words on this planet, fell from my lips in the guttural half-truths of normal everyday communication. My common porcine grunts were laced with the muddy dishwater of white lies, and subjective agendas; a constant repressed reflection of myself that I could not wait to escape.
incredible..
Oh wow that sounds beautiful, sucks that our artist cannot talk to the people.
Your writing is incredible! Every page I have read so far, everyone, makes me want to jump to my drawing board and illustrate an entire story. It makes me want to get back to writing, truly writing to express myself beyond a few pages in my journal.
You have found another fan and I look froward to reading and seeing more of your wonderful art. Thank you for the inspiration. <3
-Lily
“Shoulda sent a poet.” -Dead Winter’s Lizzie
Re-reading these has been an interesting experience.