The roof was a chaotic patchwork of communication relays, dishes, wires and other antennae. Once a week they’d see him up there stringing together something new while loudly singing Patsy Cline’s “I Fall To Pieces”.
Marcelo Troche http://marcelotroche.com/
He stopped short before entering. He had the sensation he was violating a law, but he didn’t know which law.
Djordje Ozbolt http://www.artnet.com/artists/djordje-ozbolt/
“In the dream,” she said, “the plane was in a cloud. But when we came out of it, we hadn’t gone anywhere, we were still sitting there on the tarmac. And I think we were lizards or something.”
Claudio Romo https://www.instagram.com/romo_claudio/
The building had been constructed in the crack between two mammoth glass and steel office towers. Mostly out of spite. He liked to sun bath, nude, on the tiny, Victorian roof deck.
When they got home, or where they thought home should be, they found nothing but a newly paved parking lot and a man dressed as a clown over-enthusiastically spinning a sign for an exciting brand of dog food.
Long face 666
The biker gang organized themselves in a lazy, haphazard manner, preening their automorphic machines with delicate strokes, until eventually they sped off into the blinking sky.
At the sea they would become whole again. At the sea they would grow. At the sea they would settle. They longed for the air of the ocean, both fresh and fetid, the scale of sudden weather transforming them likewise. A breath, of sorts. They would find that shack again, by the pier, barely large enough to sleep in. Damp with mist. Sand ground down into the wood. Sand in everything else. And by some circumstances, a tragedy or a lottery, they would be gloriously marooned. The sea would creep up on them, rising, until the surface of the earth returned to a state of mythical flood. Strange new animals would appear when the waves receded. The land would be scrubbed and revitalized. There would be absolution. They would walk out onto the new planet, relics themselves, knowing that when they pass, the old world would be gone forever. And good riddance, they would cheer, now free from antediluvian constraints. To the sea, they chanted, back to the sea.
That’s a lot to fit on one piece of paper, she said. They could still see the top of the bottle intermittently as short, angry waves dodged back and forth, the bottle spinning in distress.