Blog Lacuna
We have left the bunkers, fuelled up, and are to the savannah, to free roam for a time. The original forest is in the distance, Varosha Resort out there somewhere.
These places are a nexus of fragments and scattered remains. With its strange grasslands and nebulous island in-worlds, and nestled between savage and savant, the savannah is the ideal human environment. The fable bridges a gentle way across.
M. L. Darling intends this space as an opportunity to follow the veins of fable across a landscape with a simian commitment to an aesthetic of evolutionary dreaming.
Please join us.
Your contributions are welcome.
email: morpheusdrlng@gmail.com
2 comments:
Light on the hill.
Bunker Fuel #8. We have left the bunkers. Fay Glass is rarely happy with concrete beneath her feet; but in the air — that is something else. We’re gametes. Her mailbox was a hand-made ballet school. One tiny wall entirely glass Hand-engraved. Startled Gazelle of the Lunar Savannah. (The Forest of) Igneous Peachfuzz. Fire-snake Igniting its Amber Strata. Town Beset by the Mists of Amnesia. San Fran on the Verge of Summer Amnesia. Hong Kong Visited by Biro. Winter Palace of the Kansas Steampunks. The Diesel-master General in His Labyrinth. Titanium-spin Rodeo for Subatomic Bullfighters.
Who Walks Behind You Now? 1:06 PM. MAX A. FLORY 1973-2009. Facebook man...I've been beta testing the limits of this so-called "social utility": I post that I've just carried my dead friends ashes home and it barely registers a blip of activity. I wrote you home tonight, I didn’t write you home last night, You were already home by the time we got there -- all madded out on space-cake and pheromones. Came in on a bus and busted you up for not being as happy as us. Alternating Currency was shocked at the way I told you down but days later I saw scant note to yourself...sketched out on scrap of paper.
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