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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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Moon over Desert

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Hole in the Wall: Moon over Desert

Within solitude, there is self-beauty to be discovered.
Engage silence and dismiss the want to share.
And dismiss the necessity to be liked.
And love the abstract of your abyss.
Be satisfied by the soiling and scratching of time.
Whilst crawling and scampering throughout.
The same mistakes.
The same divisions.
The same crisis.

When secrets have long passed their importance.
And the desert sea shimmers under full moon.
Recognise that glorious intent is cyclical.
Without thought and without hoopla grasp this intent.
Without the need.
Without the seeing.

What is fully understood is quickly dismissed.
Your story has the greater impact.
Your synthesis of fact diminishes being.

Nothing will hurt you in your solitude.
Within cyclic patterns enable the time to feel your situation.
What is in determinism.

As an insect in forrige.
And thankful for the ambient light.
The casting your domain is difficult to define.
Let in the universe.
The stars, the planets, the reflected matter.
Shimmer and reflect your unspoken meaning.
Rejoice your memories, your shadows, loss and sense of being.
Move in cycles rather than from left to right, and back and forward.
Rather than in linear action.





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