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 gloved hand. The glove is leather with a laced up side, and tailored gaps where the vertexes of the fingers meet. The finger tips are exposed and the glove is fastened at the wrist with a tiny lock. Three fingers are tied together, leaving the index finger free and spread from the others.
[text] When you first arrive in a new now, don’t move. Don’t do anything. Don’t say anything. Look. Soak in as much visual information as you can. Remember that common courtesy, and the familiar motions of etiquette often turn in opposite directions under the auspices of local cultural imperatives.
Once, upon transfiguring in a now with surprisingly human hosts, I walked into town, waved my hand, and said “hello,” whereupon I was immediately incarcerated for indecent exposure.
Had I looked, I would have noticed that everybody in that now, were wearing gloves. Big gloves, long gloves, short wrist-bearing gloves, and lace-trimmed gloves that
cascaded to the elbow. Gloves of all shapes, and cuts. To my horror, and embarrassment, I discovered that the inevitable biological mandate in this now was accomplished through the interlocking of hands, fingers entwined, palms pressed together in sweet, cohabited communion.
Oddly enough, while gloves were the required bow to decency, and thus the fated touchstone of sexual expression, other clothing was entirely optional. The wearing of additional apparel like a hat, or a scarf, or pants, was completely dependent upon the capricious cue of weather, or the fickle winds of fashion.
[text] When you first arrive in a new now, don’t move. Don’t do anything. Don’t say anything. Look. Soak in as much visual information as you can. Remember that common courtesy, and the familiar motions of etiquette often turn in opposite directions under the auspices of local cultural imperatives.
Once, upon transfiguring in a now with surprisingly human hosts, I walked into town, waved my hand, and said “hello,” whereupon I was immediately incarcerated for indecent exposure.
Had I looked, I would have noticed that everybody in that now, were wearing gloves. Big gloves, long gloves, short wrist-bearing gloves, and lace-trimmed gloves that
cascaded to the elbow. Gloves of all shapes, and cuts. To my horror, and embarrassment, I discovered that the inevitable biological mandate in this now was accomplished through the interlocking of hands, fingers entwined, palms pressed together in sweet, cohabited communion.
Oddly enough, while gloves were the required bow to decency, and thus the fated touchstone of sexual expression, other clothing was entirely optional. The wearing of additional apparel like a hat, or a scarf, or pants, was completely dependent upon the capricious cue of weather, or the fickle winds of fashion.
Oh gosh that would be horribly embarrassing, and imagine if two of them were in our world, walking around, holding hands, looking all innocent.
delightful.
Thank you both. And here I thought that my drawing pushed the boundaries of decency.
I can imagine their horror seeing people high five, businessmen shaking hands and people covering their mouths when they sneeze.
first time dropping by, great art and interesting journal entries… of particular intrigue because I’m writing an essay for my 18th century satire course focusing on Gulliver’s Travels
@AI: Yes, sneezing into your hand does bring up a whole new picture of weirdness when linked with this installment. Ewwwwww.
@kwanhan: Welcome to AG! I do spend a lot of time digging into cultural absurdities; without the grace or flourish of Swift of course. My installment The Wizard draws similar Laputa-esk conclusions about the practicality of the scientific method. I hope you enjoy my little flash fiction diversions.
Wow! Bondage for hands. Love the strings around the fingers and the little padlock at the wrist, not to mention the sexy corset lacing up the side of the hand. There’s just so much there.
This looks like a chastity glove to me!