ARTWORK: ARTWORK:Natasha NatashaTareen Tareen
the word KIERAN KNOX
The air is warm. It borders on hot. Your breath does not fog, rather, it pushes the air. Fat, corpulent, droplets seem to visibly move before sluggishly sliding into a thick plane before you. Your steed’s flanks glisten, wet-heat as it heaves. It carried you from across the horizon. This place is not what you expected. Empty grassland. Flat, pressed down by other’s steeds as they trample across this world. Flat is a paltry descriptor. It is not flat in the same way a plate, a book, a screen is flat. Those are flat by design. Flat by choice. Their shape did not scream out as it was pressed, subjected to pressures titanic or cruel. These grasslands echo with the memory of resistance. A spirit of rebellion which did not succeed.
37. 37.
