Post by bloodiedfox on Jun 17, 2024 15:09:01 GMT -5
Martyrs Park, Dallas, Texas. All is quiet; even the usual sound of traffic seems hushed. Arvind Shakar stands, eyes closed, as though listening to something only he can hear.
Still your mind. Hold your breath. Let yourself hear it. Let yourself feel it.
He takes another few moments of eyes closed attention, before letting his lids open.
Cities are not simply a collection of buildings. Cities live. Cities breath. Cities remember.
He turns and walks, the camera turning and following as he approaches the Shadow Lines memorial
The blood that it spilled soaks into the street and colours its soul. The martyrs of the hysteria of 1860 that this park is named in memory of, the assassination of JFK a short distance away. Dallas remembers these things and reflects them back. Dallas is haunted and so haunts all who walk its streets in turn.
Reaching the memorial, he reverently places a hand on it. It takes a moment, but the viewer realises that the large figure he has moved up beside, hood raised and medical face mask in place, is his tag partner. Even without the demonic goat mask in place, Black Phillip's eyes are cold and pitiless.
So what happens when we feed it more blood? What happens when we feed it yours?
Arvand withdraws his hand, facing the camera once more, the earlier serenity on his face replaced by something darker.
It's a feedback loop of atrocity. Dallas makes us feel what it has felt and so our anger grows and so our violence unto you grows. This Dallas street fight will be brutal and savage. The city's soul demands no less.
Black Phillip has now moved to stand beside his partner, locking the viewer with his dreadful gaze.
We have your measure now, Donzig-Gun.
We find you wanting.
You will not survive this.
Still your mind. Hold your breath. Let yourself hear it. Let yourself feel it.
He takes another few moments of eyes closed attention, before letting his lids open.
Cities are not simply a collection of buildings. Cities live. Cities breath. Cities remember.
He turns and walks, the camera turning and following as he approaches the Shadow Lines memorial
The blood that it spilled soaks into the street and colours its soul. The martyrs of the hysteria of 1860 that this park is named in memory of, the assassination of JFK a short distance away. Dallas remembers these things and reflects them back. Dallas is haunted and so haunts all who walk its streets in turn.
Reaching the memorial, he reverently places a hand on it. It takes a moment, but the viewer realises that the large figure he has moved up beside, hood raised and medical face mask in place, is his tag partner. Even without the demonic goat mask in place, Black Phillip's eyes are cold and pitiless.
So what happens when we feed it more blood? What happens when we feed it yours?
Arvand withdraws his hand, facing the camera once more, the earlier serenity on his face replaced by something darker.
It's a feedback loop of atrocity. Dallas makes us feel what it has felt and so our anger grows and so our violence unto you grows. This Dallas street fight will be brutal and savage. The city's soul demands no less.
Black Phillip has now moved to stand beside his partner, locking the viewer with his dreadful gaze.
We have your measure now, Donzig-Gun.
We find you wanting.
You will not survive this.