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Attention of the Mind


4 replies to this topic

#1
Sheep Murderer

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This is here merely to preserve my reputation:

Blink.

Blink again.

The mural protruded from the wall in a manner as ridiculous as the height. The surface was bent to provide the image with a sense of breath that any viewer could see. The paint was as thick as the hunter’s jacket once had been, flaking an appropriate African texture. A flat elephant gun lay in the left hand of the man, who studied me with great curiosity from the 2-D. In the hunter’s other hand was grasped a long white cane, jutting out from the confines of the wall to feel the land of the still living.

All I could see was the wall and the wall felt me with its appendage. All I could feel was the cane pointed into the jungle of my mind. I knew the gentle fragments of bone dusted my shoulders where the descendants of hunting had left them, but I felt the exposure of the brain gratifying. Even if the hunter were a mural, surely he would understand what the meats pressed against his cane meant to me. Never before this had anyone particularly paid attention to my mind, much less prodded it with such intent. I found myself feeling affection and respect for the painting for its interest. I prayed that the lone drop of blood I could see worming its way down the cane did not alter his attention.

Bump.

The door swung to a halt against the wall, offending the hunter and changing the paint’s disposition. The descendants slithered in with their small band saw, murmuring their plans for the improvement of my mind. I hoped vaguely that the further dusting of my blouse would suit the black silk. Vibrations in my bones began to shake me off of the cane I dangled from, leading me to scream for mercy and love. At this moment, the very least they could do is take my life without removing me from the hunter and the feeling of home.


Okay, seriously, I don't know what possessed me. Gods know why I went for a sort of early century style, especially since I whipped this up in...twenty minutes? That's short for me. It's Satan awful, but I figured I would present it anyway since I mentioned that I finished it. Terrible terrible terrible terrible. I congratulate anyone who can even understand what is going on.

*draws a target on the back of her head*

Edited by Sheep Murderer, 01 May 2010 - 06:34 PM.


#2
ShadowDog

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Oh quit posturing! That was great! :drool: And actually, rather than early century, that reminds me of GreenLightBaby's writing and that's a compliment.

#3
Sheep Murderer

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I guess I'll have to read some of hers. And I'm NOT posturing. It's a pile of excrement.

#4
Foxglove

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I like it, so nah-nah-nah-nah! :P

#5
GreenLightBaby

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Wow. I really like this.

All I could see was the wall and the wall felt me with its appendage. All I could feel was the cane pointed into the jungle of my mind.


You really got me because this is exactly how I feel when I go to the Chrylser museum. I'll spend hours just go through the exhibits. My favorites are the paintings. I just get lost in them.



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