Monday, November 10, 2008

The Persistence of Memory

The radiance of the yellow sun allured me out of my idle stupor. Once my attention was knocked back to consciousness, my eyes focused in on what lay in front of me. Ahead, to my right, was a rocky mountain, its terrain sharp and steep, incapable of being surmounted. I knew that this would remain far in the distance as I turned to face the stretching, seemingly empty desert. As I moved forward I continued to search the environment and cool, blue shallows materialised, in contrast to the heat of the arid desert which was sure to be a source of exhaustion. The colours surrounding me: yellows, oranges and reds, seemed to expel heat themselves. Regardless of this fact, I was looking forward to discovering what lay before me.

Peering forward towards the sun soaked horizon, the blurs of large entities developed into more solid forms. I picked up my pace as I moved towards these objects with fascination. The heat increased with every step and the air thickened to such an extent that I could no longer view the objects in my sight. The wave of heat only allowed for my close proximity to be seen. I had to lay trust in my other senses to guide me. This factor somewhat dulled my enjoyment. I could no longer see the rich colours across the landscape, rather only the brown dust at my feet. As time flew on, closer to midday, the heat continued to escalate. Every movement needed great effort, even breathing was a difficulty. My insides seared as I gulped in hot air with every inhalation. With my head drooped, my sweaty hair interfered with my sight. Beads of sweat trickled down my neck and sizzled on the fiery red ground.

At this point I felt lost, lost in a place I had never before encountered, nor imagined. My movements slowed as I came to an eventual halt. Glancing behind and to my sides did nothing to establish my position. What should my decision be? Turn and walk to the only water source I knew and give up? Remain in the spot and possibly perish? Or continue on, unaware of where I may eventuate?

I could not accurately judge where any of these options may lead me. It was possible that while attempting to return to the start I could be in an even worse position then what affronted me now. It only seemed wise to move forward. And so, with heavy feet I dragged on. The brown colours at my feet intensified, becoming almost black. Somehow they changed to reflect my mood. I no longer wanted to be here, but what other choice did I have? Lost in my own thoughts I did not realise I had reached one of these mysterious objects I had previously seen. Curiosity and wonder led me to examine it more closely. It appeared to be a face, similar to my own, it too melted in the heat. My hands ran up its smooth surface, strangely, it felt alive. Could such a face exist without a body? Along the back lay a clock, its texture as soft camembert. The quiet tick of its moving hands echoed through the vastness of the desert. Encouraged by this strange being and the possibility that an explanation to what this was lay in my path, I continued. My mood had picked up; at least I had achieved something today.

A buzzing sound swooped past my ears and settled on my face. I brushed the fly away and it flew off into the distance. Not until my walking had continued did I realise the oddity of that situation. What could be attracting that fly to this place? Just as Alice was lost in Wonderland; I too was travelling through some kind of dream. But unlike her, I was not so interested in returning home. Not until the meaning of this place was found would I leave. And so, on I walked.
A looming figure of a box appeared, it was hard and solid, contrasting what I had previously seen. I heaved myself to its crest and surveyed what I had just passed through. I could see the cool, blue shallows and the rocky mountain, the soft, contoured face and the accompanying melted clock. They seemed so close within my sights, yet it had taken me all day to reach this point.

I then changed my focus, concentrating on what lay on top of the sandy coloured box. A swarm of ants were moving in a group, so fast I could not distinguish where one finished and the other began. Underneath the mass of tiny bodies a glint of gold caught my eye. Brushing the ants off the surface emerged a pocket watch. And then, there was another melted clock, oozing down the box’s side. A tree was at my right, its roots planted deeply within the box, and on its singular branch, a fourth clock.

This place was certainly peculiar, solid melting as liquid, and metal attracting ants as if it decayed. Surely this is no reality? But what is? I could not be a judge of that. For all I knew I was just part of the imagination of some giant duck that is suspended in space. Chuckling to myself I thought, perhaps it is true. My trek across this vast desert was complete and as the sun set the panorama seemed to glow.

I stepped back from the box, the clocks, the desert and the heat. Every brushstroke was visible as I stepped back from the canvas and viewed my painting. The process had been long and arduous at times, often because of my lack of direction, but, in the end it seemed to just fall into place. And there it lay, complete, my masterpiece, my ‘Persistence of Memory’. My only hope was that someone else would appreciate my risks and effort.

This dear kids is what that was all about:

By the way- this was written over a year ago. Little editing has been done of late. But pah! I don't mind even if you mind.

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