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Necropolis Gully

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  Necropolis Gully Ancient Fertility  The only sound in the deep quiet of the crevice was the crunch of my boots on the debris-strewn ground. Towering stone walls, draped in vibrant green moss , rose on either side, making me feel like an intruder in a forgotten tomb . My matte-black suit , a product of a future this place could never have imagined, felt profane against the ancient rock . Then I saw it: a weathered, silent figure standing in the path. It was a statue of a woman , carved from the same stone as the gully but shaped with clear intent. Moss crept up its base and clung to its form like a second skin. This impossible artifact, an architectural anomaly in this raw, natural fissure , stopped me. My steady, determined posture belied the storm of questions raging in my mind. The statue stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes, a silent witness to a history I had just stumbled into. My mission was to find my crew, but this place, this silent, stone woman , was a new, un...

Godin Refractive Reflection





Across the scrub and through the winter's cold.
Through the wind tunnels of our cities we go.
Foraging forward to the promises of a warm embrace.

Then when it appears safe to count.
The whispers from our night mind contorts order of event.
Of what was never to be considered or to be questioned.

What is termed as to be expected?
Is not present in refraction, glimmer and enticement.
Until the realization when all should be questioned and disorientated.

What turns our attention is not what we seem.
As we are desperately unhinged from the stories of heritage.
And so it continues this paradox of acceptance and distraction.

We do not want to be seen through distraction.
However, as the light changes and the whispers entice our attention.
The management of knowing seeps through our figures.

Go to sleep and pass through pulsating dreams.
Wake afresh with new realizations.
It is in unconsciousness we make sense.







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