Storystyling : Cityface (three / 1)

Citymaps

Steely rain stole my desire. It floats above the surface of the ocean’s dream.

Raindrops ate my dinner. Its ingredients are being digested in the cosmic labyrinth.

Rainriver flows through my ocean’s thoughts. It brings windy tears to the forestry constellations.

Slowly saturating the curvy pathways, the vapor lingers over the oceanic galaxies. It rains gray rain.

rhizo-mafotherphunkie-morphic.

/

--Hey tho, oine kleine! Cut that shit, won’t u! Got a story or something?

--Hey yo! Here’s an interesting one :

Once upon a time, people populated the planet. Its forest was a food bank, its caves havens, its surface—wide open spaces. At night, people would gather around fire. They might have been telling stories as they sat, but one wouldn’t venture into such a radically wild assumption. They started building houses, first in the soil, then on water, and then on the land. At the beginning, the interior was sparsely furnished. They cared for their kin. They cared for their livestock. Hence, at night, they’d bring all of them in – to keep warm. To protect them. They’d light a small fire in the middle of the house. To preserve the memories of the predecessors. Of the wilderness that bore them, threw them into what was centuries, eons later going to be described in stories as olympo-babylonian, nihilo-cannibalist arena of loops…lupi…noise.

Over time, houses got bigger, more complex, more sophisticated, user friendly. They’d reflect social status, affinities, tastes. They’d also – in this or that way – be designed to ensure room for what used to be campfire or something, so it could remain a vital component of the household. Astonishingly imaginative, artistically mind blowing, stylistically arresting pieces of interior design can be found providing the dwellers with the source of warmth. Hence, mantelpieces that are nowadays on display at museums were once somebody’s everyday.

The industrial revolution and technological progress that ensued morphed the abovementioned house architectural specimens into electric heaters, central heating, coal / oil / steam / wood generated heat emanating echoes of the eras bygone into the world that was spinning at the speed of the enlightenment – the age of reason pounding with the sound of accumulating knowledge toward the heart of yet another paradigm shift : land-capital-information-stocks…toward ever so increasing proliferation of disposable entities. The whole world has become like a needle sharing center. And yet, sources of heat remained unavoidable elements of houses.

People, for ecological reasons, started gravitating toward solar energy. At one point, for some, it became perplexing : because some people mistook abundance for surplus, which soon translated into its deviant version – precariat. Hence, there was quite a bit of heat, but some people, nevertheless, felt cold.

--whoo-whoo, little one. gimme a / one good break, won’t u!

--sure. here’s an example : whass yo favorite meal, ha?

--dish.

--then, dig this : do tho likes using words in an offensive fashion?

--sure.

--then go on using “smell” & “sound” to dennotate what is a diametrical opposition  to what they normally signify.

Verily.

/

Sound of tires rolling along aloof avenues leaks into the morose tapestry dripping gloomy twitches over the oneirscape.

Silent splash bathing the overarching seabed laceworks with the reflection of rediscovered words blossoming from unlikely cocoons embalmed with dried mud.

Soft decibelbytes reverberate with the smile emanating from underneath heavy layers of dust hanging over decrepit facades.

The city’s eyelids make a nanomovement with each miniscule photonizing glow breathing into the melting crystallized moonlight crust a frosty kiss. The city smiles as it recognizes its reflection in each droplet of the gray rain.

/

Clouds parted. The sun shone.

Branches were reaching to breathe in traces of condensed vapor.

And yet, no leaf appeared. No blossom embellished the pale bark.

The nakedness of the facades spilled no glow over the streets simmering with traffic.

Petrol fueling the engines; engines mobilizing the machines; kinetic energy fueling the drivers.

Cohorts of shoppers stormed malls, department stores, outlets…the whole city.

Satisfactory turnover from the point of view of the country’s economy…world’s economy.

The clouds parted. The sun shone.

And yet, the gray rain was still falling, flowing through filigree capillaries webbing dark interiors of dusty cocoons. Sound of wheels along concrete surfaces hooting through vacuous corridors of tired, dimlit streets.  Like wind wandering through shady celestial interstices. Like a memory of cold days rolling into each other in a perpetual fractal imagery of a mouth devouring the tail. A day that doesn’t recognize the dusk into which it melts. A dawn unfamiliar with the night it dissolves. Like windy tubes curling through the hiss of an indigo mane. Like a wild river dignified in a steady flow.  The night clad in the color of its mirror. Its image a self-generating reflection. Twining around lampposts, seeking fractal imagery of the mirror : photonizing buildings encrusted with frosty laceworks.

A golden thread scrapes the night gown. Swerves, curves into a knot. Where its dissipating trace sags into a node releasing a rhizomorphic web of sparkling capillaries. Each frosty kiss—a bud. Each bud--a node. Each node an anchor to the spreading laceworks.

From beneath the crispy crust, golden glee radiates dreams of stars, dreams of empires. The stories exchanged between indefatigable wheels and uninterested avenues is the delicate film lathering the maps of the city, gleaming into smiling constellations.

webmafotherphunkiewiered.