We haven't known each other for a long time – in fact, I feel as if I haven't known you at all. You, before me, are not the person I thought I met all those dreams ago. You are something different, something both greater and weaker than the phantoms of your image I've conjured up in my mind.
You, your voice, your thoughts and the shape of them, I've come to learn. You have spoken to me in a voice I've never heard before – a divine voice forming words drifting on the breath of the universe. I know not how to respond, in this awe I am in. I have never heard a more beautiful – a more painful, sweet, severe – song, tear me asunder like so.
The grip of your consciousness has taken me. And I have listened. I have hearkened you, but not I alone. There are others – benign creatures who enjoy the melodies of your voice, who sing along to your melancholy and glow in the fire of your spirit, and they wish to speak:
She responds to the orchestral song of Chlore17– a song named Mon Petit Monde a Moi – this small world of mine –
She envisions it as kind of like a peanut butter and honey sandwich. It's not trying too hard. It's got a little something extra that's simple but not too obvious, and it's satisfying enough that she doesn't feel overwhelmed, that she doesn't feel like there's something missing from the narrative.
It engages her. It commands her thusly: the sound of these thoughts offer a new approach to the idea of a self-portrait and opens us up to an internal world beyond the surface; it's an elevated take compared to the superficial perceptions of what the flesh portrays to the outside world.
The song lingers with her. The voices in her mind contemplate the lessons: learn from this work. There is a song with a unique affinity for word choice. The notion of getting lost in the woods once or twice was one that especially captures the listener's breath. It fits so effortlessly within the context of the work both within her kingdom and her mindset, which reaffirms that they are one in the same.
I listened too, and my being is drawn to the colours of Trikett– to the sounds of Lilac –
Never has the ephemeral shaped such melodies from such intricate words, painted such colours to my mind – once dead from the dull and gray, now alive with crystallised oaks, vivified skies. I hear the being of the vessel – the spirit within the body shaped by the colours of emotions – and I am taken by the song.
The colours burst forth, a voice so loud that the frames of the universe cannot contain it – it must be shared, it must be heard. The terrain of the heart must be painted in colour, and viewed by all.
What poetic penchant is this, that overcomes me? I've taken a part of the song, and I will make it my own. Those who listen must listen well – my soul's been touched by a beautiful song. I cannot think I've lived before these visions, and I can no longer think to live without them.
And, yet, there are so many more voices to hear, so many songs being sung by the creatures of the world – and I listen to them all.
***
That's Contest #56 for you! I absolutely had to continue the narrative we've established, even if it's obscure and nonsensical at times. I really did enjoy all the entries, and I think the work produced has far exceeded my initial expectations. I must be careful never to underestimate this community again.
Additionally, this particular contest has drawn a lot of new faces into our fold – I welcome each one of you sincerely and with open arms! If you're not participating in the August Whodunit, I would encourage you to explore the free-write prompts that are posted alongside.
I'd very much like to thank my amazing Guest Judge for this contest, TheDrunkenChipmunk who I'm a massive fanboy of. I've asked her to participate as a judge for this contest because, while I know her work is grounded in more solid imagery, I thought she might have some incredible insight into the nature of these self-portraits. She absolutely didn't disappoint. I find it so cute that her review started off with a peanut butter and honey sandwich.
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