Post by Evergreen on Nov 5, 2022 20:13:02 GMT -5
Nyx's breath, as if consisting of hundreds of tiny gasps, wavered. Her body, still as a column deposited over the ages by layers of silt, sat and stirred the cup of herbal tea in front of her. Minutes ago she had shown Amber the backyard from which she had plucked the leaves and flowerbuds which she dried and ground up for the tea. She knew the plants in the yard well, drawing from them like from an artist's palette, saying they were for her "western tea". Throughout the duration of this tour Amber stared at her with wide eyes, trying not to step on any plants, studying slight motions of her guide's body, the way it pranced around tightly packed herbaceous stems more elegantly than hers, as if knowledge of it would be a wellspring of future grace.
"So how did this community start anyway?"
Amber wished she could delve into the question of Eulalia's inclinations, motives, and whereabouts, but wasn't sure how to approach the question. Something about reading the letter, seeing the handwriting which was almost self-mockingly loopy and fanciful had piqued a desire in her. She watched Nyx expecting a response, who instead lifted her hand from her cup, inserted it into a cabinet above her and rummaged around until taking out a wrinkled mass of green and blue vinyl sheen. She put it to her mouth and blew, her mouth puckered and tense, then continued to blow with her eyes widened. She began to speak between bursts as the material expanded.
"It started quite a long time ago. But how do I even begin? Talking about the inception of our community is like talking about the inception of a gesture, or of a thought. There's something fatalistic in the act of conception. What is it, even, that marks the transition from an older thought to a newer one? What is it that causes us to conceive one thought at one time, and another at another time? Why do concepts morph and unfold and why do we identify with them for periods of time until realizing they are merely fantastic abstractions, which are no different from the ones that society tries to convince us of?"
"I... I don't know. I admit, Nyx, I don't have many ties to this world, or this existence as a whole. I don't have many friends or anyone to talk to. I'm looking for someone to help give me direction in this existence that I guess that's what leads me to places like this. Places where women live in run-down cottages apart from society and are rumored to do terrible things that I won't speak of right now because by looking at you I can tell it isn't true. I want you to give me some hints about the events you know about that led to the inception of this society."
"Well, I'll tell you. It was founded by a young woman named Soleil around the dawn of the computer age. It was a time when the world was becoming more interconnected and its culture was growing more cohesive."
Nyx's face now disappeared from Amber's view as the vinyl material grew large enough to show the continents and oceans of the world. Amber recognized it as a beach ball divided into slices like an orange by black lines, and the rest of Nyx's words appeared to come from the beach ball rather than from her own mouth, and were interspersed by more long expansive breaths, which acquired more and more of a quick, almost desparate tinge over time.
"She created a community in Venezuela which was similar to ours. And out of this community in the luscious, glistening temperate woodlands of Venezuela sprouted the beginnings of what would be called the A.I.R. milieu. It was a decentralized private network of communities, some of them incorporating militias. A few like-minded people acquainted with the original idea of Soleil's community founded the milieu on some simple convictions: That the changes being wrought to society over the past few decades were the manifestation of a certain logos. That this logos was a cosmic order, which meant that it implied an order of thought, ethics, and action. And that this logos had a counterpart, diametrically opposed to it, that the A.I.R. was to embody, but which this logos was constantly trying to subvert and dress in the clothes of."
"So the A.I.R. was opposed to these changes you speak of where the world was becoming more interconnected?"
"Yes. They understood that there was nothing wrong with interconnectedness in principle, but that the way in which this logos, which was behind the technology developing at the time, adopted the quality of interconnectedness resulted in a disruption of the differentiation and autonomy of ordinary people. True interconnectedness radiates through the internal machinery of nature and doesn't need technological infrastructure to uphold it. That's why the A.I.R. itself didn't use advanced technology for its operations. Rather it used other techniques to facilitate interconnectedness. One of these was finding unique ways to circumvent restrictions to travel the world and find... well, let's call them souvenirs. There are a lot of souvenirs around this house."
"Like that wood rainbow, I guess. And maybe these beach balls, too." Amber said, looking at the cartoonlike blown-up globe Nyx held in her hand.
"Yeah, but there's more. Take my hand and let me show you."
Nyx stood up and took Amber's hand, leading her out of the living room and through a hallway covered in paintings of light-suffused turbulent seas and storm clouds. Each had an ornate gold border and Amber felt a cascade of emotions as she passed them. They reached a door at the end of the hallway which led to a white room whose walls were covered in an ethereal wallpaper textured with pastel and white fluffy clouds. The far wall had a dark axis running diagonally along it which Amber realized was a mahogany staircase with a thick railing running from the floor to the ceiling.
Nyx let go of Amber who watched her meander around the room as if dazed until she walked into the shadow of the staircase and teetered over face-first into a tall pile of trashbags which were placed there, in the darkest corner. She smiled and gesticulated until Amber she drew the courage to get close to the trashbags too. Shuffling her flat auburn slippers in the dust, she started to rummage around inside one of the trashbags. Finally she drew out a long knife and began to talk while gazing intently at Amber as the staircase loomed above both of them.
"Sometimes when I'm alone here I sense fluctuations in the wind. They come in the form of dreams and visions. It's like the news that silence carries. Or maybe the woman I care about speaks to me. Or maybe I'm losing touch with reality. My only anchor to reality was her. When I was with her time used to flow at a moderate pace, and now it's inscrutably drawn-out. Sometimes months feel like days now, and other times days feel like months. You know, right before she left she told me she wanted to direct a film."
Nyx looked down and away from Amber, reclining back into the trash bags as if situating herself in the pod of a spaceship. She looked up into the underside of the staircase and lifted the knife, starting to lightly scratch the edges of the furnishings. Amber saw bits of wood shavings fluttering down.
"She even took me to the Stiperstones and shot some footage of them to use in that film. She took some footage of me, in positions that were emotionally excruciating but which I will always remember. Anyway, she told me what led her to want to create the film was recognizing the harmful impact of globalization and the centralization of media on human health and well-being. However, this would not be the focus of the film. The focus rather was on the strange items and artifacts that sprung up in various corners of the world despite the increased cultural cohesiveness we have faced during the past era. Multiple travel destinations would be used as case studies including secluded temples, countryside barns, abandoned beaches, and vine-covered jungle terraces. But near the end of the film it's revealed that the film isn't really about artifacts or globalization."
Nyx began to withdraw her knife from the staircase and began stroking the blocky glaucous quartz tetrahedron on the hilt of the knife over and over. Her face got redder and warmer every time her hand tightened around it. Then she began to speak while carving out sections of the air in short swoops. Some of these swoops got closer and closer to Amber who did not move but observed the way the blade glinted before her, the straight line of dark metal running down from the tip to the base, where it was slightly squiggly, becoming a blur, faster and faster. Amber's spaced-out eyes gazed at nothing as she felt her own heartbeat as low-pitched thumps in her ears.
"The intended aim is to describe the vocabulary of a so-called Golden Age, an age of myth when humankind spoke the Golden Tongue, a language composed of a set of universal syllables that came together organically, waxing and waning with the aeons, and were not set in stone in a dictionary. Every artifact portrayed in the film was not chosen because of the properties of the object itself, but because the way the object was organized reflected knowledge about the Golden Tongue, and thus about events that occurred a long time ago. The set of these objects explored in the film can be used as a map to understand the Golden Age, and the film ends by showing its director, Eulalia, building a golden citadel somewhere in the world. I receive messages in the air that are scenes from this film. I wonder if they actually are. I guess I just have to have faith in the film."
Nyx felt the breeze push back against her face. She couldn't move forward, but she also didn't move an inch back and stayed completely still. She, too, had a certain kind of faith.
"So what got you into knowing Eulalia?"
"Well, we were both admirers of the A.I.R., you see."
When Nyx looked at her, even though she was also threatening her, the glance penetrated her and delved into the recesses of her person. It was as if she already understood who she was, her happiness, her sadness, all of it. And behind this understanding was a benevolence, a desire to help her. To raise her psyche to a higher realm intertwined with the stars. To inspire her in a way intertwined with the black hole in her heart.
"So how did this community start anyway?"
Amber wished she could delve into the question of Eulalia's inclinations, motives, and whereabouts, but wasn't sure how to approach the question. Something about reading the letter, seeing the handwriting which was almost self-mockingly loopy and fanciful had piqued a desire in her. She watched Nyx expecting a response, who instead lifted her hand from her cup, inserted it into a cabinet above her and rummaged around until taking out a wrinkled mass of green and blue vinyl sheen. She put it to her mouth and blew, her mouth puckered and tense, then continued to blow with her eyes widened. She began to speak between bursts as the material expanded.
"It started quite a long time ago. But how do I even begin? Talking about the inception of our community is like talking about the inception of a gesture, or of a thought. There's something fatalistic in the act of conception. What is it, even, that marks the transition from an older thought to a newer one? What is it that causes us to conceive one thought at one time, and another at another time? Why do concepts morph and unfold and why do we identify with them for periods of time until realizing they are merely fantastic abstractions, which are no different from the ones that society tries to convince us of?"
"I... I don't know. I admit, Nyx, I don't have many ties to this world, or this existence as a whole. I don't have many friends or anyone to talk to. I'm looking for someone to help give me direction in this existence that I guess that's what leads me to places like this. Places where women live in run-down cottages apart from society and are rumored to do terrible things that I won't speak of right now because by looking at you I can tell it isn't true. I want you to give me some hints about the events you know about that led to the inception of this society."
"Well, I'll tell you. It was founded by a young woman named Soleil around the dawn of the computer age. It was a time when the world was becoming more interconnected and its culture was growing more cohesive."
Nyx's face now disappeared from Amber's view as the vinyl material grew large enough to show the continents and oceans of the world. Amber recognized it as a beach ball divided into slices like an orange by black lines, and the rest of Nyx's words appeared to come from the beach ball rather than from her own mouth, and were interspersed by more long expansive breaths, which acquired more and more of a quick, almost desparate tinge over time.
"She created a community in Venezuela which was similar to ours. And out of this community in the luscious, glistening temperate woodlands of Venezuela sprouted the beginnings of what would be called the A.I.R. milieu. It was a decentralized private network of communities, some of them incorporating militias. A few like-minded people acquainted with the original idea of Soleil's community founded the milieu on some simple convictions: That the changes being wrought to society over the past few decades were the manifestation of a certain logos. That this logos was a cosmic order, which meant that it implied an order of thought, ethics, and action. And that this logos had a counterpart, diametrically opposed to it, that the A.I.R. was to embody, but which this logos was constantly trying to subvert and dress in the clothes of."
"So the A.I.R. was opposed to these changes you speak of where the world was becoming more interconnected?"
"Yes. They understood that there was nothing wrong with interconnectedness in principle, but that the way in which this logos, which was behind the technology developing at the time, adopted the quality of interconnectedness resulted in a disruption of the differentiation and autonomy of ordinary people. True interconnectedness radiates through the internal machinery of nature and doesn't need technological infrastructure to uphold it. That's why the A.I.R. itself didn't use advanced technology for its operations. Rather it used other techniques to facilitate interconnectedness. One of these was finding unique ways to circumvent restrictions to travel the world and find... well, let's call them souvenirs. There are a lot of souvenirs around this house."
"Like that wood rainbow, I guess. And maybe these beach balls, too." Amber said, looking at the cartoonlike blown-up globe Nyx held in her hand.
"Yeah, but there's more. Take my hand and let me show you."
Nyx stood up and took Amber's hand, leading her out of the living room and through a hallway covered in paintings of light-suffused turbulent seas and storm clouds. Each had an ornate gold border and Amber felt a cascade of emotions as she passed them. They reached a door at the end of the hallway which led to a white room whose walls were covered in an ethereal wallpaper textured with pastel and white fluffy clouds. The far wall had a dark axis running diagonally along it which Amber realized was a mahogany staircase with a thick railing running from the floor to the ceiling.
Nyx let go of Amber who watched her meander around the room as if dazed until she walked into the shadow of the staircase and teetered over face-first into a tall pile of trashbags which were placed there, in the darkest corner. She smiled and gesticulated until Amber she drew the courage to get close to the trashbags too. Shuffling her flat auburn slippers in the dust, she started to rummage around inside one of the trashbags. Finally she drew out a long knife and began to talk while gazing intently at Amber as the staircase loomed above both of them.
"Sometimes when I'm alone here I sense fluctuations in the wind. They come in the form of dreams and visions. It's like the news that silence carries. Or maybe the woman I care about speaks to me. Or maybe I'm losing touch with reality. My only anchor to reality was her. When I was with her time used to flow at a moderate pace, and now it's inscrutably drawn-out. Sometimes months feel like days now, and other times days feel like months. You know, right before she left she told me she wanted to direct a film."
Nyx looked down and away from Amber, reclining back into the trash bags as if situating herself in the pod of a spaceship. She looked up into the underside of the staircase and lifted the knife, starting to lightly scratch the edges of the furnishings. Amber saw bits of wood shavings fluttering down.
"She even took me to the Stiperstones and shot some footage of them to use in that film. She took some footage of me, in positions that were emotionally excruciating but which I will always remember. Anyway, she told me what led her to want to create the film was recognizing the harmful impact of globalization and the centralization of media on human health and well-being. However, this would not be the focus of the film. The focus rather was on the strange items and artifacts that sprung up in various corners of the world despite the increased cultural cohesiveness we have faced during the past era. Multiple travel destinations would be used as case studies including secluded temples, countryside barns, abandoned beaches, and vine-covered jungle terraces. But near the end of the film it's revealed that the film isn't really about artifacts or globalization."
Nyx began to withdraw her knife from the staircase and began stroking the blocky glaucous quartz tetrahedron on the hilt of the knife over and over. Her face got redder and warmer every time her hand tightened around it. Then she began to speak while carving out sections of the air in short swoops. Some of these swoops got closer and closer to Amber who did not move but observed the way the blade glinted before her, the straight line of dark metal running down from the tip to the base, where it was slightly squiggly, becoming a blur, faster and faster. Amber's spaced-out eyes gazed at nothing as she felt her own heartbeat as low-pitched thumps in her ears.
"The intended aim is to describe the vocabulary of a so-called Golden Age, an age of myth when humankind spoke the Golden Tongue, a language composed of a set of universal syllables that came together organically, waxing and waning with the aeons, and were not set in stone in a dictionary. Every artifact portrayed in the film was not chosen because of the properties of the object itself, but because the way the object was organized reflected knowledge about the Golden Tongue, and thus about events that occurred a long time ago. The set of these objects explored in the film can be used as a map to understand the Golden Age, and the film ends by showing its director, Eulalia, building a golden citadel somewhere in the world. I receive messages in the air that are scenes from this film. I wonder if they actually are. I guess I just have to have faith in the film."
Nyx felt the breeze push back against her face. She couldn't move forward, but she also didn't move an inch back and stayed completely still. She, too, had a certain kind of faith.
"So what got you into knowing Eulalia?"
"Well, we were both admirers of the A.I.R., you see."
When Nyx looked at her, even though she was also threatening her, the glance penetrated her and delved into the recesses of her person. It was as if she already understood who she was, her happiness, her sadness, all of it. And behind this understanding was a benevolence, a desire to help her. To raise her psyche to a higher realm intertwined with the stars. To inspire her in a way intertwined with the black hole in her heart.