:: High Tide/regretful/unfortunately/dripping molten heat ::
by tidewriter, Silvana, slinkachu, and MetalEar
::| an.exquisite.corpse : discussion : 12 |::
I'm typically not a big fan of text in these corpses, but this one works for me.
murfinator at June 1, 2006 7:11 AM
Bit disapointed in this one... was kind of hoping that the corpse had copy right through it, so i carried it on, but now i can see it didn't, just one line of copy above my section. as a result, the sections don't really gel. Oh well. Colours work well though. I like the photo used in silvana's piece. there is something haunting about road lights at night.
slinkachu at June 1, 2006 7:15 AM
I think it works. This is what the guy is writing on the beach.
amyc at June 1, 2006 9:05 AM
I like the text. I thought his subconsoius (skeleton) was asking for forgiveness for taking the photos of the topless girl :-)
shell5058 at June 1, 2006 9:34 AM
Just wanted to clarify - i've never taken photos of a woman girl (not on a beach anyway...)
slinkachu at June 1, 2006 10:02 AM
That didnt make any sense, but you know what i mean!
slinkachu at June 1, 2006 10:06 AM
Those women-girls will get you flustered.
Shae at June 1, 2006 12:26 PM
Nice graphic, Tidewater. Another effect can be achieved by having content reach the bottom of one's piece. Next time, you might try not fading to black at the bottom: run those ankles into the ground, as it were. Then the next player can play with them, too.
A solid black fifteen pixel strip tells the next player nothing at all about your piece, except that it ended with a solid black fifteen pixel strip, and that's not much of a clue.
Cheers!
doctormatt at June 2, 2006 12:46 AM
And of course, by Tidewater, I meant Tidewriter.
Why can't we edit these comments?
doctormatt at June 2, 2006 12:48 AM
Just wanna say, slinkachu, your text is awesome. The matter-of-fact phrasing and the mix of bizarre and mundane topics. "Confrontation with drunken vagrant. Water cooler empty again. Damn."
dagfooyo at June 2, 2006 5:13 AM
I really love this one. I like the two beach refrences, and the street lights.
James at June 3, 2006 3:11 AM
Thanks for comments everyone. Feels good to have my exquisite cherry popped and I look forward to many more corpses (and good advice, DoctorMatt).
The two beach references are flat out bizarre. Here's some more detail on the point of departure for my image. This is the Tide Writer manifesto (1953). I suspect I'm not the only Tidewriter out there..
TIDEWRITER MANIFESTO
Let’s be serious for a moment (which regrettably is all we have). The truth might sting a little but I promise it won’t do any permanent damage. No more than the wind, anyway. Or the rain. Have you ever seen the faded inscriptions and carvings on the old headstones at the Pére-Lachaise cemetery? Well, then you already know what I’m talking about.
So here it is: Let’s admit that nothing of value matters. We fill our vessels, play our various games and that’s it. Nothing more. Our history and civilizations are so much dust, visible only through sunlit curtains to a small child home sick from school with a high fever. And our greatest creations, our most humanistic ideals, our victories, inventions, cities and monuments – our high and mighty religion and art – a handful of sand tossed into the sea.
If you look closely, you’ll notice that the whole world has a Mona Lisa smile. The only just laws are those imposed by nature.
You know, throwing rotting fruit and vegetables at performers makes a lot of sense. Think about it. What greater tribute to the artist? Such a pelting demonstrates a depth of understanding, a true appreciation for art that’s becoming increasingly rare among audiences these days.
It’s low tide. This is the beach where Nambuli vanished beneath the clouds, beneath the sands, beneath the waves, in a fit of smoke and mirrors.
You might as well dream backwards. You might as well make pictures out of cut up pieces of sky. You might as well write the story of your life in the wet sand here where the ocean meets the shore or compose an opera for blackbirds sitting on a telephone wire.
Imagine the work a king might do with his armies and his thousands of slaves. Imagine a democracy of smokestacks and rail lines. Imagine a rusted Eiffel Tower with waves crashing around it.
There’s a ruined piano inside us all, waiting to be consumed in flames. As I said, it will only take a moment.
Tidewriter at June 6, 2006 1:20 PM
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