Robert Bush noon, Oct. 23
- Community Blog
- Normal Heights Through the Blue and White
Everybody always wants to throw glass in stone houses and, sooner or later, someone's going to lose an eye!
Today's Runner-Up is an actual, honest-to-goodness Art Car! And it's all ready for loading up with naked, sunburned hippies. Wooo! We're going to Burning Man! I actually really dig the time and affection put into the ad--even going so far as to make a full disclosure on the Art Car's imperfections. Props.
Biggest of the big winners for a 24 hour period:
Once, a dreamer dreamt a dream and a glass tower rose skywards to great and unknowable heights. Within the tower were hundreds of rooms, all connected by stairs and passageways in such a manner that each room led to several others and the way was less than clear. Begin walking form any room, and the end of the journey was always an equal number of steps away. People--all of them male, balding, and of indeterminate age--wandered through the tower, acting as curators of the exhibits. The exhibits, if such they could be called, were not immediately recognizable as repositories of artwork or other things valued by culture to an extent demanding preservation. Instead, the exhibits contained aspects of the tower itself. One room, for instance, might make clear the intricacy of the tower's maze-like wandering passageways. Another might focus on the artfulness with which light was allowed to play in and out of the tower's walls (which varied from opaque to perfect transparency).
At the very height of the tower there was one room, perhaps it could be called the final room (though it was no more final than any other being no more at the end of the journey through the tower than at its middle and beginning), which made a great deal of showcasing the tower's existence as both absurd structure and as the shape and substance of dreams and possibilities.
Compelled towards understanding, the dreamer asked a curator in that topmost room to explain for him the significance of the thing and how it had been achieved. The curator pondered the inquiry in silence and at great length, taking his time to perform his one and only task to the best of his abilities. Unable to settle on the words adequate to such an undertaking, the curator selected a small hammer of exquisite manufacture--theretofore unnoticed in the corner of the topmost room--and struck a single blow to the wall of the tower near it's apex. Understanding (or something like it) rose in the dreamer as the tower crashed down around him.