Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
hey! the world out there is holding off, (stalled, occulded coldfronts, windsheer from the West’ard), lets see what happens when we try a photo-prompt from our friends to the east…(way East, so East they’re having lunch as we write). We referring, of course, to jenne and ceayr‘s hangout, the Unicorn Challenge.
Simple rules, subtly provocative photos and a gang of writers with mad talent at the wordage.
(this week’s photation):
“This is it? A second-rate staging of metaphor that makes a pie-in-the-face the height of subtle inference?! If there’s any divine agency and, if this mise-en-scène offers any insight, we’re dealing with a god possessed of all the sophistication of a Norman Rockwell painting, minus the pederastic sub-text.”
The man looked back down the trail that were there any chronological continuity to where he became self-aware, was the path he’d followed. The hint of bitter whimsy rose among the words of his soliloquy like the smell of a fart at a formal dinner; but a stirring of his hair, as if by a breeze, restrained his coiled pain sufficiently to permit the view of the world he’d spent a lifetime enduring to re-establish a sense of narrative order.
“Clearly,” he thought, “Death has accepted my offer of the exchange. Damn sporting of Him.”
From beyond the second fence grew … sound. Not noise, not words-shared-in-common-context, not simple nature, but the sketching of an aural portrait. Pushing past what appeared half a rusted-pipe turnstile, the notion of a turnstile and the words on the sign exuded tendrils of sentimental need, like emotional sea anemones, predators posing as passive vegetation, giving up the advantage of speed and strength in exchange for co-opting the will of the prey.
It wasn’t the bite of a certain Apple that condemned Man, rather it was their creator’s conceit in bringing to the world Hope as the stalking horse of Death, the true god of the mortal.
*
About clarkscottroger
Wow, Clark, too cool.
This is deep, cynical and funny.
Love it.
ty, yo
Nailed this one, clark. Loved ‘Not noise, not words-shared-in-common-context, not simple nature, but the sketching of an aural portrait.’
Thanks, Doug, ‘ppreciate that
Such a great piece, Clark. Biting, cynical, defiant and with your signature descriptions adding a touch of humour.
‘From beyond the second fence grew…sound.’ Pure poetry.
PS Good to see you here again.
Good to be here again
Well, you’ve ruined Norman Rockwell for me. But who doesn’t enjoy a story where Death is capitalized and personified. You’re having some fun this apple season!
Yeah. Kinda sad, my being of the age of exposure to the cultural milieu marked by the dominance of weekly magazines in support of the arts.
(It, this revelation, my J’accuse is not so much gratuitous, but a result of the early days of this blog. Spent a lot of time on google looking for images to compensate for my lack or writing skill, and, back then the image resources I would maintain were way more abundant.)
Anyway, spend enough hours staring at enough of Mr. Rockwell’s paintings and one simply can’t avoid the question: why the propensity for using what arguably is the most vulnerable segment of our sub-adult population? Ok… use them, but may mix it up with some puppies or other kids as the other dominant element (in his paintings), rather than adult authority figures.
Sorry, I’ve ranted too long.
Don’t tell anyone.
lol
Nicely done, most thought provoking.
thankee, Miz M
Another one for the books, Clark, in a way only you can present!
ty
“Damn sporting of Him”
Enjoyable read in the wee hours of Sunday morning.
Good one!
:]
So much to ponder in this. I like how he pauses to re-establish a ‘sense of narrative order’ in his life. That’s a feeling I can relate to. Powerful ending.
thanks, Margaret
They like to blame Eve, but it was as Pandora who bottled things up!
Thoughtfully placing Unicorn. Nice!
*pacing*
lol you may have a point