June 22, 2013: Don't Ask Questions
Hello Night Family,
My return to the shadowgrounds of the Snaefellsjokull glacier plane has been met with exuberance and moisture. The northwinds have combusted over the lava fields with the slopefire from the mountain to incinerate the airspace with an abrasive and persistent gale, as symphonic as it is pestilent. But enough of the topographic malaise. The company has been rockbusting and bonesmoking the material culture of the Medieval fishpeople that were generous enough to congeal in this scape some 600 years prior. We have exposed the sequential architecture of localized ecodistortion, and will continue to flesh out this chronomania through the holiday.
Icelandic National Day was celebrated in solemnity, as is everything in this clime. The denizens remain indifferent to stimulation and emotion, lacking sufficient blood stamina to dispense even the simplest pleasantries among themselves. However, our efforts have once again been made the focus of the local print media, as our curious postures cannot help but draw attention from the vapor zombies that blaze these hills (see attached).
As per custom, I leave you with the below charts and graphs documenting the labor undertaken and its traces upon my corporeality.
In angularity and dignity,
July 13, 2013: The colorfield is melting
Gravity negation continues to phaseblast the tephra drones. Nine o' clock Stockholm vagrants. Wind colonies spinejacked our nightpaste. Invasive deliriums have coalesced. A little to the left. The bone labor and vacuum deprivation have mottled our youth. Surfaces leathered with vitamin solarity varnish the dayfields. The only way out is further clockwise. We nobly persist in our soil agitations. Our change of scenery is welcomed with lapses in valency. Swallowed by intermittent crevasses within the geoid, a skinwave trends nearer the horizon. All that remains are the animations recovered below.
July 27, 2013: It is necessary to find a device that unfolds
The map is nearly complete. Thank you for your patience.
The archaeology of entrances has revealed that the horizon is a machine that unfolds velocity. Deranged, certainly. The angle of approach which envelops the perpendicularity negates the subtlety of undulation. In its place has risen the hesitation of obstruction. This topography is one in which narration supersedes duration. Both faster and more hesitant, the condensed occupation of this latidunal temporality has revealed the liquid geology of the subearth. It's warm there. The most salient consequence to bear in mind when entering persistent illumination is that it cultivates relentless shadow fields (most of the time, you know, 'cause sometimes it rains a lot and you get really wet).
The wind-powered visual representations of the above are submitted below for your consideration and dismissal.
See you soon.