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SITUATED BETWEEN A HAMLET AND A VILLAGE
Macie Rasmussen
Inspired by Untitled 13, Teo Nguyen If there was noise in the void, it would sound like the snow kicked up softly by the wind on the countryside. Empty. Cold. Colorless. Nauseating. There’s no separation between the ground and sky, expelling the urge to take one step further. A tree’s shadow is disgusting because it’s just a reflection of absence in this context. The sight of a silo in the distance only represents past exhaustion— labor that’s long gone. For a structure that has pulled many into null existence, it should have died long ago. Who would worship that which is desolate? Just as you only know you were once lonely when you experience genuine friendship for the first time, you don’t appreciate the void until a stranger coughs in your mouth. You don’t notice the overhead power lines until you’ve looked up from the base of a fifty-six floor consulting agency. Some flee the void when Aquarius season injects rebellion into their veins. Like the stars’ governance, not everyone understands it. That’s okay. That’s the void. It’s jarring for those who’ve left and returned. It may not be as they remember. After all, emptiness is open. Coldness incites impetus. A colorless space is a perfect canvas. Nausea is the ideal tool for purging the unwanted. In each snowflake, there’s its own void. When it eventually melts, it’s omniscient. Like astro-water signs, not everyone understands how this place floats between reality and the imaginary.
