Nov 28 23
The first thing noticed, was a row of tight and even scalloping. Focusing in, the succession of half circles, were shown to be the overhanging edge of a roof — like roof tiles. Because this specificity, this initial anchor was established, we were then allowed to take in the larger context; we say “allowed” as throughout the proceeding, allowing and showing were overwhelming sensations — something was trying earnestly to demonstrate.
The larger landscape was a density of architectures; low buildings somehow without horizon or sky. Though the projecting angles and planes felt intense and infinite, there was a rationality and soberness, to it all — the vigorously clean shards of painters like Edward Wadsworth and Charles Sheeler come to mind. It is important to say, that none of it felt like metaphor, this world seemed an actuality, though an actuality we were too infantile to understand.
Our attention was guided back to the scalloping, with an encouragement to dip the angle of our view — to look lower. The move activated a shift or a parallax perspective, altogether upending our previous understanding of the scene. As it turned out, the scalloping was not roofing tile at all — but imbricated brims of a row of fedoras — maybe eight or twelve. Upon lowering our head further, we were able to see a kind of phalanx of very short men in purple zoot suits. They had pointed purple shoes and their skin, in kind, was the same middling purple.
Their countenance was arresting and called for immediate deference. Their expressionless faces were simultaneously stoic and puckish. Without question, these were the guides, overseers and fabricators of this dimension — or whatever such an area could be called. Also of note, it was “clear” that they were communicating with us, mind-to-mind, that is, without speaking.
Our preoccupation with taking in all of their weird and commanding attributes had distracted us; the setting had completely changed. Peering beyond the pointed purple tips of their toes (which were floating or dangling somehow, looking similar to those sharp triangle shapes sometimes seen adorning the undersides of Victorian eaves) a new landscape was pulsing away.
Now, instead of the miles of low, human-scaled buildings there were unfathomable distances of a kind of cosmic machinery. Gigantic rotating cogs disappeared into darkness. Immense lengths of impossibly sized chains extended out of sight, thundering on massive winches. Colossal stone buttresses and archways shifted and groaned like something out of Castle Gormenghast or Piranesi’s dungeons. The feeling here, was distinctly new — whereas the previous setting felt like we were being given a view of the underpinnings and girding of earth’s reality — here the point seemed to be a display of the purple men’s monumental prowess and skill. That is, on a whim, they could recast any universe or any familiarity with the simple power of their superior/immeasurable vocabulary. But astronomic ostentation was not really what they were trying to relay — the significance here, seemingly, was to teach us a crucial lesson about Versions (writ large).
There was a tapping on our mind; a tacit prompt — an allowance to ask a question. Without thinking we bumbled: “Yes, but what if it all were totally different?” Right at the moment we finished the query, the whole landscape collapsed from three dimensions into two, in a very specific way… (Please understand the following is rather hard to describe.) From the farthest visible reach to the closest object, the world had become completely constructed of what we can only describe as a very specific white flame decal. Totally bizarre — a panorama rendered entirely by infinite, identical, corny, white, tribal-ish, flame decals… Yes, exactly like you’re thinking, the standard understandable dimensionality of an already mystifying terrain, was wildly converted to a hard-to-conceive-of 2D situation made of the most banal and trivial consumerist stickers.
We were utterly stupefied by the situation.
This was the last lesson of the purple men — the interplay of triviality and immensity.
When the challenge to our basic empiricism had reached its zenith, a last change was visited.
Without warning, or a reasonable sense of transition, we were peering in on a thoroughly different scene. Any sense of the presence of the purple men (and the vastness they had conjured) had completely dissipated. Now, all was warm and transcendentally intimate. We were peering in on a domestic realm, having a kind of omniscient view of the layout of the previous home of a friend. Within the low, warmly lit private scene, there was a tall, thin, humanoid creature calmly walking from room to room. From head to toe it was entirely covered in long, clean, snow-white-white fur. It would not be wrong to describe it as a Yeti or an albino Chewbacca except that its comportment was so softly chic, so refined, and so utterly sophisticated, that those references seem an insult to such a poetic creature.
For an indeterminate amount of time we watched its muscularly spotless frame glide and gently pad about — until of course the vision yielded and all went away… And we were simply back in the room.
The larger landscape was a density of architectures; low buildings somehow without horizon or sky. Though the projecting angles and planes felt intense and infinite, there was a rationality and soberness, to it all — the vigorously clean shards of painters like Edward Wadsworth and Charles Sheeler come to mind. It is important to say, that none of it felt like metaphor, this world seemed an actuality, though an actuality we were too infantile to understand.
Our attention was guided back to the scalloping, with an encouragement to dip the angle of our view — to look lower. The move activated a shift or a parallax perspective, altogether upending our previous understanding of the scene. As it turned out, the scalloping was not roofing tile at all — but imbricated brims of a row of fedoras — maybe eight or twelve. Upon lowering our head further, we were able to see a kind of phalanx of very short men in purple zoot suits. They had pointed purple shoes and their skin, in kind, was the same middling purple.
Their countenance was arresting and called for immediate deference. Their expressionless faces were simultaneously stoic and puckish. Without question, these were the guides, overseers and fabricators of this dimension — or whatever such an area could be called. Also of note, it was “clear” that they were communicating with us, mind-to-mind, that is, without speaking.
Our preoccupation with taking in all of their weird and commanding attributes had distracted us; the setting had completely changed. Peering beyond the pointed purple tips of their toes (which were floating or dangling somehow, looking similar to those sharp triangle shapes sometimes seen adorning the undersides of Victorian eaves) a new landscape was pulsing away.
Now, instead of the miles of low, human-scaled buildings there were unfathomable distances of a kind of cosmic machinery. Gigantic rotating cogs disappeared into darkness. Immense lengths of impossibly sized chains extended out of sight, thundering on massive winches. Colossal stone buttresses and archways shifted and groaned like something out of Castle Gormenghast or Piranesi’s dungeons. The feeling here, was distinctly new — whereas the previous setting felt like we were being given a view of the underpinnings and girding of earth’s reality — here the point seemed to be a display of the purple men’s monumental prowess and skill. That is, on a whim, they could recast any universe or any familiarity with the simple power of their superior/immeasurable vocabulary. But astronomic ostentation was not really what they were trying to relay — the significance here, seemingly, was to teach us a crucial lesson about Versions (writ large).
There was a tapping on our mind; a tacit prompt — an allowance to ask a question. Without thinking we bumbled: “Yes, but what if it all were totally different?” Right at the moment we finished the query, the whole landscape collapsed from three dimensions into two, in a very specific way… (Please understand the following is rather hard to describe.) From the farthest visible reach to the closest object, the world had become completely constructed of what we can only describe as a very specific white flame decal. Totally bizarre — a panorama rendered entirely by infinite, identical, corny, white, tribal-ish, flame decals… Yes, exactly like you’re thinking, the standard understandable dimensionality of an already mystifying terrain, was wildly converted to a hard-to-conceive-of 2D situation made of the most banal and trivial consumerist stickers.
We were utterly stupefied by the situation.
This was the last lesson of the purple men — the interplay of triviality and immensity.
When the challenge to our basic empiricism had reached its zenith, a last change was visited.
Without warning, or a reasonable sense of transition, we were peering in on a thoroughly different scene. Any sense of the presence of the purple men (and the vastness they had conjured) had completely dissipated. Now, all was warm and transcendentally intimate. We were peering in on a domestic realm, having a kind of omniscient view of the layout of the previous home of a friend. Within the low, warmly lit private scene, there was a tall, thin, humanoid creature calmly walking from room to room. From head to toe it was entirely covered in long, clean, snow-white-white fur. It would not be wrong to describe it as a Yeti or an albino Chewbacca except that its comportment was so softly chic, so refined, and so utterly sophisticated, that those references seem an insult to such a poetic creature.
For an indeterminate amount of time we watched its muscularly spotless frame glide and gently pad about — until of course the vision yielded and all went away… And we were simply back in the room.