'What if, for just a day, we could both be pigeons?
Sometimes one moment in time can take on such an
important significance that it becomes an endless world
unto itself and everything outside of that moment, past
and future spots in time, become the folklore of the world.
What if we could both fly over the Kiralyi Palota and
see it just as these pigeons do? A beautiful culture
of dissimilar angles as donkey angels above this city.
But even in the world of the infinite moment, we
cannot choose the feather of our bird and
the pigeon may long to be the goose, the donkey the pigeon
and so on. Furthermore as our world blossoms out of this
single tick in time, it is for one pigeon a swirling
ro mantic flood of euphoric possibility and fascination,
for the other an inferior life of shitting on everyone
from the sky, awkward and ashamed,
resigning themselves to be the
wretched nuisance they are painted as by those they shit on.
Ultimately, as quickly as our world blooms, our world is discordant,
and our pigeons are wounded, and as our world dies, we die, and we are extinct.
If only we could kill ourselves over and over until we get it right.
So just as an entire genre of music can be born out of one sped up ten
second breakbeat, a full symphony orchestra can come together in
harmonic unison to create that perfect moment in time, thus every moment
can give birth to an entirely new world, and every world can house the
perfect moment, and just as that breakbeat maybe broken beyond any
recognition, that orchestra may combine to bring forth a
dissonant barrage of colossal sorrow,
and so the moment disintergrates it's world and that
world suffocates the moment under it's collapse.'
Hot Fingers Club
[SelwynRJ.DeviantArt.com]