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The Empire of the Primrose

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  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 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. The Empire of the Primrose - Station 2 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 h...
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Jonus Prostrate but Faceup Scene 2 Slide 5

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Jonus Prostrate in Hate Scene 2 Slide 5

Jonus Prostrate but Faceup Scene 2 Slide 5

The noise, the silence, the tomb, the self.
What condition can remove this pity?
I am displaced with this attention.
I cannot compose my stature.
Forever crumbling and falling apart.
I am now the centrepiece for all to ridicule.
From hatred alone I despise those who watch and mutter.
I hear it all, I know it all and I feel it all.
Pathetic man, chalet, conceited prick.
Too weak to stand, too weak to kneel.
Fallen down into the swine's garbage.
In this time I will listen to the hypercritical judgements.
I will remember all.
In time I will return to seek victims for my malice.

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