Untitled etc

Drying up, the blue lines seeking meaning through organization, through order and direction; a specific kind of structure, alien ideations of unknown order, not asking how nor why. 

And when the hand slips, the burning, stinging pain of wrists… 

Deformed, deficient… 

Smudges of the white-out, devouring the unwanted, the accidents, the glitch, the noncompliant while the remainder watch, straining themselves into the structure, leaning into organization, afraid of being found inadequate, deficient, malformed and the cosmic joke of the white-out spreading, randomly devouring those nearest the rejects. 

The redness came from an incomprehensible direction, by unknown means and it spread with reckless abandon, turning blue to purple and engulfing the white, blurring and destroying the carefully calculated structure, reducing order to blurred smudges, affliction not caring of conformity, of the strenuous, detached but all-important, omnipresent structure... The structure of an alien origin, some foreign conqueror.. The red obeyed neither aesthetic of shape nor did it fear the white-out.. But the fabric of our existence soon warped and crumpled..

The blue, leaned into its idealized structure and form, dreadful awareness of the intruding red creeping across lines this way and that...

But none of the lines moved, none above nor below, not to the sides not even straightening from the creator imposed angle of leaning right, forced to endure the saturation of this wet, crimson horror...

The soft, dimmed pain beneath the line, throbbed, almost as though writhing in a sea of its own unpleasantness... The red came from the same place as the blue lines but in a contrasting nature, metallic and raw, uncaring of structure and form, natural and free flowing…

The blue and red and even the dreaded white-out crumpled and warped as the page dictated. No answer to the why, why now, why this, why that... No answer, just the end of the cycle..

*

Once again, the gray lines structuring the white, now waiting for the first of the blue lines and dots, in nervous anticipation... Is this the purpose of being, the meaning of an un-guaranteed existence, to host this manifested ideation of an alien structure, alien to even the creator, posing as a natural occurrence, but fundamentally ill and other.

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Inspiration:

https://youtu.be/betNz43w6uI?feature=shared