Fooled in the twilight, a clanging…to look or…to replay convoluted stories …creatures, a chimerical plot, a misuse-able craft? Confusion – a mechanical, persistent heart’s cognition, a dark dull force in pursuit- a raft of fear?
In the beginning, We had sweet and simple idea remember? This was a place where the creative and natural could have a simple reunion: inviting neglected anarchists and enfant terribles from now and the ages, to a country picnic. A rural simplicity joined, sharing art. We refused proper names (except for Yorick) in the hope that all would feel included, even unmemorialized names. We have appointed The Deciders, for simplicity, to service opportunities in this old circus tent become museum. Deciders are rendered as the spiritual hobby-horse head of their youth, a personae, avoiding issues of photo rights.
But alas, there is something foul afloat (some unspittable taste of fear) because of one of the Deciders: who chooses to be called ” -In-Chief”.
But also a rising has expanded; a resistance has formed (quite sensibly) among emotives, including anarchists.
Bartered superstitions lurk, even on the prairie. A conjured ambassador from the city, night prowler (maybe urban myth), a legend about windows to be pried, and bolted doors blankly covering what should be opened. Among misfit children, the myth is a hero (he sticks his tongue out?).
An invented name, The KnightRider. Schooled in emotive bombs, the children regale in the KnightRider, hoping for some excitement among the resisters.
Yorick watching (chronically frayed) afraid of lukewarm immortals, counsels the child…
“You are to small for the bomb, and the bomb is to meek for the problem.”
The legend, the conjured Prybar, gains fame in a circuitous polarized distemper between town and the rural colony of anarchists.
Searching for that which needs, and can be…pried open.