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RE: The Exquisite Corpse: A Weekly Story Nobody Fully Controls
The story so far
"One afternoon, at low water, Mr. Isbister, a young artist lodging at Boscastle, walked from that place to the picturesque cove of Pentargen, desiring to examine the caves there. Halfway down the precipitous path to the Pentargen beach he came suddenly upon a man sitting in an attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands of this man hung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his face was wet with tears."
Now go write a paragraph and make it someone else's problem. 🖋️
Just then, I rounded the corner and tried to take in the situation. But of course, at first I was confused – even more so than usual. So I shouted: “Hey, what’s-your-name, leave my friend Sisyphus alone!” And I asked him: “Did that bloke insult you? Or hit you, perhaps?” Growling, I turned back to what’s-his-name. What was his name again? Let’s call him Jon.
Jon stared at me in shock: “No, for heaven’s sake, I’m just as shocked as you are, I don’t know what’s going on here, I haven’t done anything!” And we both looked at Sisyphus. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hands and, still half-sobbing, explained: “As always, I’ve taken such great pleasure in rolling the boulders, but my wife gave me a telling-off today and said I always have the same thing on my mind, and that I should finally broaden my interests or hobbies, find myself a sensible, useful, meaningful activity…” And he sobbed again and went on: “But I do love rolling the stones so much, even if I never manage to get them all the way to the top.”
Jon and I took his calloused hands in ours and tried to comfort him: “Look, Sissi, your wife isn’t entirely wrong, but perhaps there’s a good solution. For example, you could turn the futile rolling of stones into a sort of art project – a performance that opens people’s eyes to their own pointless actions?”
Translated with DeepL.com (free version) – proof-read by me
Sisyphus paused briefly; his gaze cleared for a moment. Then he waved his hand dismissively, resigned, and his sobbing grew all the more intense. “Art… art! Who pays any attention to art these days?! People have problems, real problems. There’s no energy or point left for art!” Mr Isbister, Jon, shakes his head: “The good man isn’t entirely wrong. I’m an artist myself and I hardly get any commissions these days. People cut back on art when times are tough...”
Stunned, I look from one to the other: “Are you serious?? It’s the role of art, of artists, to shake people awake! You’re the ones who can change something about this whole shitty situation. You’re the barometer, the catalyst and the motivator for the masses!”
The sobbing didn’t stop. After a while, however, I got the impression that it had turned into a giggle...
Next, please... ;-)))
"Are you giggling?" Jon, who turned out to be Dutch, asked, his hair ruffled. "Are you putting on some sort of theatre show, testing just how far you can go? Are you not a man of your word at all, and do you really not like rolling those stones to the top? Have you just made it all up? I could well imagine that you don’t have a wife at all. If I were you, I’d stop this right now, drama queen, otherwise you’ll need those stones for something else – like building your own 'hunnebed'."
I said: I tell you, your sense of humour isn’t exactly great. You can clearly see he’s dead serious; perhaps he’s giggling because he’s nervous – it’s not easy to start something new; it takes courage. You know yourself what it’s like, when everyone thinks the same, nobody thinks. It’s not easy being an artist, even if you’ve got an art degree.
"That’s true", said Jon: #freeartfreesart, but not the artist. All those materials have to be bought first, and just try standing out amongst all those bananas stuck to the wall... Phew
‘What do you think of being a sculptor?’ I asked my friend. He had enormous hands and could certainly, just like Thor on his anvil, deliver some fantastic karate blows with them. No tools needed.
The giggling stopped abruptly. My friend wasn’t the brightest of the lot and was, indeed, a bit of a wimp. A nudge in the right direction is what he needed, and a fat bank balance, I realised. I was struggling myself and trying to hide my depression. I’d only come here to see the caves and find a quiet spot to die alone.
‘Let’s walk up together,’ I suggested, ‘roll that stone up too – I’ve got a great idea…’ (would that stone be able to close the entrance to a cave of my choice?)...
7.9.26
Translation: deepl.com
Right now..? I thought that was a suggestion for something to happen in the future. Why now? You knew that I was feeling tired from rolling all those stones. You know that, and you still asked the question with all seriousness. I could see that on your face. It is just the way that you act, isn't it? You just try to lure others to say things that they try to hide. It is that attitude that you cannot let go off, isn't it? Well, this time is going to be different. We are still going to roll that stone up. But, while we are at it, I need you to tell me what happened when you disappeared for two years. How has it been? I heard rumors that it was not something that you wanted to do. It was a favor to someone dear to you. It is those little things that you try to hide. Well, let us get ready to move and you can start telling me all about it while we are moving.
"Two years?" I muttered, my hands slipping on the wet, mossy granite as the boulder wobbled between us. A sharp gust of sea wind nearly knocked the breath out of me, but I held my ground. "You call it a favor, but back then, it felt more like taking the hit for a fire I didn't start."
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my forearm and looked him dead in the eye, the heavy stone trembling under our weight. "I stayed away because if I came back any sooner, the whole village would have known whose hands were really on that chest. But since we're finally talking... tell me, Ronnie, did you ever open it while I was gone, or is the rusty padlock still sitting on the bottom of the cove?"
The narrator of this story, a certain @ladyaryastark, saw that the experiment was getting out of hand. Sisyphus was no longer carrying a stone to the top of the mountain only to have it roll back down into the void, but rather a "wet, mossy grain," like river sediment, in his hands. Then he stopped to reflect: Can an absurd life cease to be absurd at a certain point? What is the point of bearing the "weight" of what happens in the world if not even the reflections written by @gor671, so insightful, will be read by the "masters of the world"? Do I become anxious about the present, or do I close my eyes and immerse myself in this narrative where @ronnie asks about the two years I spent in Hades? Does Ronnie not know that the underworld of before is now our world?
Ladyaryastark read what Sol had written, and she was furious to see that this "newcomer" was trying to read her thoughts, then she took control of her "exquisite corpse" and decided that we should return to the moment when Mr. Isbister was on the beach at Pentargen.
!dubby 14 %
What does "dubby 14%" mean?
Thanks to everyone!
We look forward to seeing you at the second edition of this exquisite corpse.
https://steemx.org/hive-107855/@ladyaryastark/the-exquisite-corpse-a-weekly-story-nobody-fully-controls-2-p1m13z
Definitely. I'll be there.
!dubby 14 %
Sounds there's a 4th character introduced to the story or?
This BOOMING vote is yours and well deserved!
❤️🍀
I wonder who is at word. The Sissy?
This BOOMING vote is yours and well deserved!
❤️🍀
Thank you & have a nice day,
!dubby 14 %
!dubby 14 %
Awakening what? A triggered internal reaction to something? A search for resonance with the individual's inner demands based on the proven technologies of society and religion? One always yearns for more, to understand what lies beyond, even though depression and reactions to external negativity force one into inaction. Giggling is always a continuation.))))
Hi! Nice to see you...! May be you are ready to write a further continuation...? At present is Ronnies text the short end of the line.
Hope you're well. Hope you have moments of peace...
Good afternoon! Be careful there, after us they'll be heading your way. We have fluctuating numbers, with incoming attacks every day, and casualties. Fiber-optic drones are the worst thing, within the city limits. Suicide drones are less common now, and missiles are a nightmare. They hit transport, passersby, whether they're children or women, and trains with passengers. We're lucky with the mayor. Hits and rubble are being cleared quickly. The city is clean, with lots of children and young people. Public transport and businesses are operating. It's worse in cold weather, with more attacks on energy infrastructure. They can even hit residential buildings. Last spring, there were 16 explosions by night-time suicide drones. The sound of a diving drone is something special. The walls were shaking. That's where I live, within a 1 km radius, all in residential areas, high-rise buildings, with casualties. The windows in my house were shattered, and the government helped rebuild it. War has become commonplace, something you pay attention to with ingrained reflexes, somehow habitually. You rejoice in simple things—the sun, good weather, successful purchases, or an abundance of work—even though life constantly throws up reasons for disappointment. But these are merely reasons to reconsider your attitude toward the world. I wrote and thought—it turns out that a state of relaxation doesn't provide the opportunity for inner development; the drugs of social well-being work like heroin. Take care of yourself and your loved ones and be prepared; in any case, it won't hurt.
You know, I recognise and share these fears. But I push them far from my mind. I don’t want to live in a state of anxiety, and if foolish, ignorant politics lead to a major war that would directly affect us too, there’s certainly nothing I can do about it. I still have hope that reason will prevail, but it’s fading...
That's right! However, it's not about fear. A vital factor is emerging that influences our decisions. Prudence is, unfortunately, not in favor at the moment.
I'm not able to imagine how it is and feels to live under such circumstances...
Conditions fade into the background; survival is the most important thing. Comfort becomes a convention, and only partially so. Everything in the city is open, including the nightclubs. Young people aged 14-20 still hang out on the streets, arguing who's cooler by how many centimeters. A real disaster is teenagers on mopeds at night before curfew. The sound of a moped is very similar to the engine of a kamikaze drone, so it's extremely unpleasant. Jet drones are more dangerous, but the sound is very different. Compared to 2022, life is in full swing, and the city is very clean – thanks to the mayor and housing services. But there are still rocket strikes and casualties, too, alas. I am very glad to read your messages.)))
We are glad to find you living and surviving and hope there soon will be an end of all this terrifying, damaging, and wounding and killing.
"Peace is the end like death of the war" - this is the end of a song on peace from the 70s.
...very pleased to read from you....!!
!dubby 14 %
This BOOMING vote is yours and well deserved!
❤️🍀
!dubby 14 %
That state when you're bursting with a need for fulfillment, and you begin to thrash around inside. You try to find a way to relieve the inner desire for self-realization, or at least temporarily dampen it, releasing all that's pent-up and oppressive in any available form. Introducing everyone to the absolutely infinite abyss of perception and accumulation within—ATTENTION, I AM)))) and it's wonderful!
!dubby 14 %
Congratulations! This content is nominated by True Colours - Booming03
We loved reading you.
This BOOMING vote is yours and well deserved!
❤️🍀
This BOOMING vote is yours and well deserved!
❤️🍀