JJFBbennett

The Legitimacy of the Primrose Let the sceptics murmur in their dust, and let the ancient scrub push back with all its thorns and bitter sap. For today, beneath the unblinking southern glare, a quiet yellow coronal unfolds— an exile’s ark rooted in stolen loam. In the hush of this fragile petal, the mother country reaches across the abyss, pressing her wax, her law, her cold memory deep into the red stone, and claims the silence as her own. My YouTube Music Station:   https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrxQKZRnAka3dliF7lp1-Ow Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art .  To support my art, feel free to  become a subscribed member via Patreon donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal    Copyright This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws . Distribution and/or modi...

I am of the Primrose Empire It is always dusk when the cycle resets, like waking inside the cold architecture of an unyielding, repetitive dream. I walk the wet, cobbled veins of an ancient European city, passing beneath stone arches hung with heavy, lifeless flags, heraldry drained of colour, damp cloth clinging to wooden poles like dead skin. There is no breath of wind, only the low, humming pressure of an era turning in its sleep. I reach into an iron sconce and tear loose a torch of roaring, ragged fire. The flame casts jittering amber shadows against the masonry as I plunge down the same discrepant corridor, a passage that bends against geometry, narrowing and widening like an inhaling throat. Past the broken gargoyles. Into the moss-eaten ruins of a seated angel whose stone wings have sheared away to jagged stubs. And onwards, deeper into the vaulted hush, drawn by an old, fevered pull toward the temple of the sacred primrose. Here, in the forgotten transept of empire, stands the...

 LOGS FROM THE VOID To access the journals, consider subscribing to JJFBbennett via: Patreon - https://www.patreon.com/1809829/join   DeviantArt : https://www.deviantart.com/jjfbbennett/subscriptions Meta Subscriber Hub for exclusive content: https://www.facebook.com/JohnBennettArt/subscribenow?surface=pinned_comments The Highway and the Lost Soldier What began in Journal 001 as "T he Whisper of the Rust ", a haunting, ancient frequency in the desert static that lured travellers into the spinifex, soon became a physical threat in Journal 002 " The Salt and the Sinew ", as a crawling, unnatural drought began parching the land and its people, reclaiming their very moisture as an ancient debt.  Now, in Journal 003: The Tithe of the Living , this relentless hunger has materialised on the Stuart Highway as "The Thirst That Walks." Even the sealed, air-conditioned sanctuary of a tourist bus cannot protect the living, as a single open door is all it takes for t...

  Driving in Silence How do you approach an apparition? Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett From our safe seats We gaze at the grandeur of the empire Driving in silence Generation in Generation out My YouTube Music Station:   https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrxQKZRnAka3dliF7lp1-Ow Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art .  To support my art, feel free to  become a subscribed member via Patreon donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal    Copyright This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws . Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the sponsor's written permission is prohibited.

  The Empire of the Primrose The city fell in a single night Holding it would take longer So the painters were summoned in the gloom And the saints on the stone walls... Were given his family's eyes   A bloodline was found for him Older than the walls Older than the kings who raised them Now even the iron earth must forget It ever belonged to anyone else... I am the vessel, I am the decree The apex of empire, the false purity Holding the pale coronal into the glare Chartered to conquer the silence out there A seed of cold fences, an ark of damp clay Bending the void to the shape of decay The cycle resets in the dusk of the dream Cobblestone alleys and banners unseen Down the discrepant and tapering throat Past broken angels where gargoyles float Into the wood of the rot and the mould Smelling of Devon and iron gone cold One yellow petal, immaculate bloom Crushing the soul with the weight of its doom Touch the cold stem—and the spires bend back Cobbles turn red on the furnace-h...

  Empire of the Primrose poem The city fell in a single night.  Holding it would take longer. So the painters were summoned,  and the saints on the walls were given his family's eyes. A bloodline was found for him,  older than the walls,  older than the kings who raised them. Now even the earth must forget it ever belonged to anyone else. The Empire of the Primrose - Station 1 Do you have recurring dreams? Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett The cycle always resets at dusk, like waking inside the cold architecture of an unyielding, repetitive dream. I walk the wet, cobbled veins of an ancient European city, passing beneath stone arches hung with heavy, lifeless flags, heraldry drained of colour, damp cloth clinging to wooden poles like dead skin. There is no breath of wind, only the low, humming pressure of an era turning in its sleep. I reach into an iron sconce and tear loose a torch of roaring, ragged fire. The flame casts jittering amber shad...