Archive for the ‘Names’ Category

TDV 21: Names: Feltfoldhart

July 16th, 2008 by Sharkchild

The creations of the artisan were always magnificent. Every detail, contour, and finish orchestrated a perfection of visual embrace. The way his completed works mesmerized the most critical of art and the most cynical of achievement proved his worthiness to all who might own—or if but see—a piece of his allotted mastery. Even in touch, his work marveled no less; a blind man would have been amazed. The work that came from his hands was embodied by nothing less than a craftsmanship inspired by the heavens. What a gift he had, and he did not spoil it.

There were many different mediums for the artisan’s work, but there was one he greatly preferred. He used wood, marble, and clay, but his favorite, and domineering preference, was bone. Its rigid, unique, and lifelike form allowed accomplishments unlike anything that could have been imagined. With grooves and notches, he connected them into powerful displays of entity, which he then manipulated into strange figures and beasts ranging from short heights to towering presences. It was as if the ability given to him was for something much greater than art. Yes, it was art, but it was also architecture and science and innate, unnatural understanding.

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All Are Called (Names Intro)

July 16th, 2008 by Sharkchild

Artwork: Names: Unsonselvitzsol

July 14th, 2008 by Sharkchild

Art: Names: Unsonselvitzsol

TDV 20: Names: Tillalel

July 2nd, 2008 by Sharkchild

By a very early age, I had learned the seriousness of sanctity—as far as it goes in relating to things unbound by the compass of the solvable. I knew, in other words, about the astringent potency of belief: what it was capable of and how it controlled and manipulated. There was one event in particular that stripped me forever from ignorance, and it began with nothing more than a prayer.

When I was but five years old, I took a liking to a rather precarious doll called St. Pebbles of the Sky. The doll was the priest of a concocted land—a mere childhood fairytale. He wore a tight black robe with a gray, pebble-beaded rope tied around his waist. Around his neck hung a wooden cloud, hung by the same gray, pebble-beads. Most distinct of all was his face. It stretched long, creating a moon of a chin that anchored large, round pebble eyes and a mouth that bent like a river. His head was bald and on it a map was tattooed in black ink, leading the way to a hidden empire in the sky.

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TDV 19: Names: Unsonselvitzsol

June 17th, 2008 by Sharkchild

An amount of seasons befell me that I could not count before I became free. And surely it was an amount less than I would have thought, for time lingered awfully slow within the cool, decrepit cell of my prison holding. I did not mark the days and I did not note the moon when it could be seen. My thoughts and my pain were the only troubles I ever had dealings with, and I rather disliked both of them. I was not a complex man, especially during this time, and spent almost all of it in one of two disturbing states.

The first state: Hooded guards would take me once every seven days and bind me to a floor beneath the open sky while the sun singed the flesh of my back, arms, and legs. On each day thereafter, I would be strapped to a concrete table in the depths of where my holding lay. Indescribably, the hooded guards would pour hot water upon my burn wounds, inflicting a pain greater than anything that denied death as they plagued upon my essence with no apparent motive. And on the days following that, I would be flogged several times. They would have continued on beyond a handful of lashes, but my dead flesh freed much too generously and sickeningly under each strike. If I could have ended the butchery under any circumstances, I would have done so gladly.

The second state: During those moments of my pitiful refuge, I would lie quite still, tucked against the wall of my cell, playing imaginary music to the rhythm of splashing water made by my fingers slapping upon small puddles. The action calmed and distracted my thoughts, allowing me to soak in the sorry scrap of my life left to live. I would have rather done other activities, but any other movement would have horribly ravaged my wreckage of a body and caused excruciating pain.

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