Peasants. They wouldn't understand. Or perhaps couldn't. Yes. I like that. Their brains too small to grasp the magnitude of this installation.
My art has always... eluded those without intellect.
For example, to the untrained eye and mind, my first installation looked like a series of bricks, forming a wall. If you didn't notice the mortar, it looked just like that. A wall. "Oh, hey, is this the wall guy?" That's how the peons remembered me. The wall guy.
My next installation wasn't much better. Televisions playing to televisions, broadcasting video of televisions. This was before Facebook, even. Don't tell...
Some people would call my addiction a "trivial" case, and I would agree with them. Yes, trivia. That is my addiction. I love to learn and memorize totally random trivia. For example, did you know that drinking 16 ounces of ice water, requires the body to burn 17.5 Calories to warm the water up to body temperature? Fasinating! I know that some people would call me odd or insane but it isn't like my addiction is serious or anything. I mean, come on, it's not like owning all 54 volumes of the Guinness Book of World Records is insane or...
Mistress Pog looked round, surprised by the old woman's prescience. Mortals were so impressed by what could be achieved with good hearing, and actually listening.
"Will! Did you follow me?" she stabbed an accusation at him like hog's fat hitting a skillet.
"No Pog, I have… unfinished business of my own with Old Meg" he said quietly, fingering a small bottle shaped lump in his purse.
The farmer stepped lively into the now rather cramped hovel. There didn't seem room to fit any air in the room. That or the witch wouldn't need a fire to roast a rabbit, from...
She could tell I was faking it. She can always tell when I'm faking it. Something about the way my eyelids droop slightly, the way I chew at my bottom lip before I talk.
"It looks lovely."
"It doesn't. You're lying." Somehow, she always knows.
"Okay, it doesn't. It's a hideous dress. But you do. You always look lovely."
"Creep." She smiles, and swats at me with the scarf she's about to wrap around her shoulders instead of a coat.
I love the way she looks when she gets ready. How she frowns at the mirror when she puts on...
Spinning. Maybe not the most productive way to spend the day. But I couldn't think of anything better.
At least not when I was 6. So those lazy summer days were spent spinning whenever I could. Falling down in the leaves just made it happy bonus time.
Of course, that was well before the incident. I was spinning down what I thought was an empty street. Spinning because I knew that would make the daily trip to the store more fun. Because one of the perks of living that close to school and being friends with the principal was that...
I'm in luuu-uv with a ro-bot
An' I just can't stop
Got a feelin' he's a bad lot
But he gets me over the top
It was loud. It was *bad*. It was everywhere. It was augmented by neon lights in rainbow colors and, somehow, the voices and laughter bouncing off all the hard surfaces in here.
So, this, apparently, was a bar.
"Relax," Maya muttered at her side. "You look like a nun in need of Ex-Lax."
"This isn't what I had in mind," Elizabeth hissed back. "What the hell in the phrase 'a quiet night somewhere' made you...
Light. Warmth. Heat. Fire. The smell of autumn tickled her nose. Earthy and soul reaching. Leaves swirled and the moon glowed overhead. The air carried a chill and as they discarded their clothes they drew closer to the crackling fire. Barefoot, their feet danced on fallen leaves. They held hands and circled to the right for seven skips then changed direction and danced to the left for twelve beats, then right again and left. Their chanting grew louder and they surged foreward, caught up in the moment, excitement and wonder overtaking them. One didn't join the circle but stayed apart,...
The wind blows between my toes. It tickles the little hairs on my big toes and reminds me I forgot to shave them. Those two little hairs on each big toe make me feel like I'm never totally girly. All these scars on my legs, too. The scar from the broken beer bottle my dad left in his car. Bad memories attached to that one. Eleven stitches, and a trip to the beach after where I couldn't get my leg wet. Those aren't the bad memories tangled up with that scar. The beer bottle, the alcoholism, the drugs: the father...
I was mesmerized by the number of mirrors it took to cover the surface area. I began calculating in my head, when suddenly my arm was yanked forward by a woman wearing enough hair spray to suffocate the entire discotheque. Her smile was wide and gregarious and I counted the teeth exposed by her ruby red lips. She shouted something at me, leaning her head in a coy yet inviting manner. We stepped on the color-changing tiles and I estimated the surface area by counting the squares on the perimeter. The beat increased and my heart pumped faster to match....
I was free. This is where I had always felt free. The air rushed up beside and around me in the form of small, rounded bubbles. I plunged deeper and deeper, holding my breath until I could feel my lungs begin to scream. The whistling noise in my ear told me I needed to go to the surface. I close my eyes as I kicked my feet, pushed my arms through the water like propellers, feeling the rush of water around me. My head cracked through the surface of the water and I gasped, gulping down as much air as...