Storystyling : Unsmoked Books (one / five)

Webwi(e)red

--Heyya three looking, wass yo like dream like?

Snow protected branches in the guise of waves of humidity; snowflakes, where leaves should be, in the guise of floral decoration.

A color petal peels off the palette. Lowers a soft touch onto the scenery singularly recognizable by the oneiric apparatus of ye message.

Melts into the hybrid horizon of the city, melts into the pastel chromoscape.

Spanning the orangepurple trajectory : that what spreads.

--Verily.

Twas a deserted urban giant. We were driving across the vastness of that lonesome monster. Now, what the reference of this first person plural pronoun is may be either unfathomable, or, simply resistant to a precise verbal articulation. Quirky mellowness of the oceanic avenue ahead, perplexing irresponsiveness that appears exactly as it is around. We kept sailing through that urban riddle. Its architecture exuding the cold of the communication channel dominated by muteness. Buildings whose purpose, aesthetic, and looks converge in the blandness of facades.

or, so somnambulist logic would want one to believe / kesenem!

What you see is the surface is what you get—an impression.

Where surface is mistaken for interior is where unruly linguistics says : “me no likes it.”

We kept sailing that oceanlike driveway. Something profoundly suggestive of a story behind the unconvincing facelessness of colossal babylonian glass monuments made us continue immersing oneself in mesmerizing oscillations between discomfort caused by the site of utter emptiness and a sense of warmth holding threats in abeyance.

Continuing the journey through the architectonic goliath starts revealing chunks of the story one can more sense than decipher. Neither overrating the intuitive, thereby devaluing the rational, nor elevating reason, thereby understating the imaginative, one rather finetunes to the sound of spatiotemporalities : resilient, yet not unstable; unshakable, yet not rigid.

Thus finetuned, one realizes that the sound of such a puzzling urbanity is but the vibrant mafotherphunkie message the cymbal—the emblem domineering the coat of arms--sends to whoever is willing to listen.

--yo cymbalness, speak for fuck sake!

vibe of abandonment, vibe of emptiness : that what spreads.

tales of facades are suggestive of the idea that bondage by mastery is possible only by virtue of the underprivileged acknowledging such sociopolitical perversity. / but, the oneiric riders know better. / the underprivileged might be aware of the delusion of omnipotence enabling enslavement in question. / this by no means should be confused with any erroneous variant of the aforementioned statement.

Webwi(e)red.

As (self)dissolving hollowness of architectonic surfaces gives way to the gentleness of pastel saturation,  flamboyance of floral ornamentation vibrates with the song of the underlying snow embalmment and the dreamscape slips away with the flux in the hourglass.

--hey, little one!

--yo!

--wass yo like dream like, ha!

--hey, watchya oneiric mafotherphunkie vernacular, willya!

--yo!

--kesenem.

--kesenem.

like phunk. / like phunk.