The Geometry of Desire

The Geometry of Desire
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

Gorgeous, pale cockatoo, preening her electrons nice and shiny.

Strut on your perch.

Fluff.

Your eyes betray you, though.

That blood of yours...
It sings a song of falcons.

And that wicked hawk's tongue...
Oh, how crimson is the stain left by the blood,

Of the dove.

The Haughty Grace of Madness...

Eyes Slideways
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

There was a sound, just then. Did you hear it?

There.

That...rustling noise behind us.

There it is again. You HAVE to hear it now...that slow, slithering noise, like an avalanche of time-stained paper rolling from the desk of some ancient author.

Is it...time? The slow, steady murmur of fading heartbeats?
Or is it something calling from the other side of sleep, the cold madness of the crow?

I think I felt a feather brush my face just then...

Luxury's Lap

Nightbreak
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

Antithesis engines burn through the permanent digital midnight.

Lifting these heavy dreams to the spare, clean heavens is the work
of black witchery.

Frozen, hot, blue smoke formed and bent according to the dictates of the will.

I imagine, you think, endless cloudscapes lit with the flickering kiss of peppermint lightning.

You think right.

Midnight Reflections...

Midnight in the Garden
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

Where the daylight should never light the way, find your way by other means.

There are whispers and sighs to guide you.

Open your ears to the night, and let the moonlight filter through your skin tripping the blue fuse in your brain.

The moveable feast has arrived for a midnight snack.

Dystopia Lies Dreaming...

Night City
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

There are caramel-candy-coated lollipop vistas that ooze sweetness and light.

Their saccharine cargo rots the fangs.

But.

Places like THIS, where the night breezes rustle constantly, and offer sanctuary from the overhyped mundanity of useless utopian schemes, are treasures beyond compare.

Ahhh....Suffugium, and Devil's Moon, let the night breathe!

The Gravity of Sleep

The Gravity of Sleep
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

What dark art pulls my head toward the pillow, while my heart still pumps thundering blood?

Where will the maps of midnight lead me, or will there be only the constant hiss of static, the sibilance of a digital dream?

With every tick of the clock, another heartbeat lost...another moment flickering away.

Each lonely tap echoes with flat finality, while electric mists gather on the lonely moonlit metaverse.

A chill makes its way through the bundled layers of the traveller's cloak and his pace is quickened as the fog begins to rise.

And unseen, she watches, smiling at a rustling in the hedgerow..

Digital Kundalini

Sybarite Window
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

There is a sweet poison on my lips, a breathless ache in my chest.

A luxurious illusion floats tantalizingly near, yet at an infinite distance.
An illusion of life, which ripples along dendrites and axons until it stirs
That snake at the base of the spine
And slithers...with quiet, velvety whisperings through my blood.

In a world which offers us this much forbidden fruit, is it madness or virtue for us to take only bread and water?

A little of both, perhaps...

Base Jumping

Is it that there's something akin to a common badness which infests the human spirit? Socrates believed that if granted perfect anonymity, it is the nature of man to do bad things. After all, if there can be no real punishment, what is there to stop us from acting on our every whim and impulse?
The case of Second Life is an interesting one, in that regard. For the most part, people have agreed to a consensual social contract which implies they will carry the rules of behavior from Real Life into that of their new virtual playground.
But, there are some exceptions, and among them, a new social contract is implied. With a new contract, comes new rules, and these new rules are where we see behavior take a radical departure from what many consider to be societal norms and values.
At the same time that many pander to the common, base and bestial nature of mankind, there are also works of almost heartbreaking beauty to be found. People come together to forge bonds of community, exploration, philosophy and education.
Perhaps it comes down to the very physical engine which drives our shared metaverse. After all, in this new second life, when you jump from a precipice it becomes your choice to fall.

The Meaning of Art

Profile
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

Art and artists. A constant, banal parade of vanity and self-absorbtion. But then there is this...an inconstant summer breeze down the neck of blue-lit winter nights. A flickering in the shadows accompanied by the fluttering of moth's wings.
Every once in a while, there comes something in life which...
...actually,
...honestly,
approaches something like art.

Permanent Midnight

Permanent Midnight
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

If we choose the sun,
Then the mystery of night
Is forever lost...

Walking along neon-bright pathways, flickering ugliness abounds.
I simply cannot abide where common baseness pollutes the soul.
I am becoming the enemy of the Garish...a tribe wallowing in the gutter of their own self-absorbed consumption. The Garish...who believe the anonymity of the digital world excuses any excess, and offers release for any depravity. They claim the night is theirs, yet they drag the sun along with them.

What are they really afraid of? After all...the worst they could encounter in the night is themselves, right?

Or me.

The Electric Ocean

Archer Braun
Originally uploaded by Archer Braun.

There are some tales too wicked to tell.
They will moulder and fester beneath the leaf-littered carpet in the dark forest of the imagination, and their vapors will rise to color the limitless vistas of dreaming sleep.

There are some struggles played out on moonlit rooftops, where shadows dance together to the frantic sounds of scuffling feet, the pop and squeak of metal in flesh, and a long, last sigh which speaks of breaths which will never be taken. A passing-away of such powerful intimacy that any witness is forever changed and darkened.

There are epics unfolding on monstrous panoramas, where lightning flickers and the smell of the storm carries with it the mingled scents of fear and sweat. The thunder grumbles, while in the distance, generals gather in dark tents. They plan and plot, all for the joy of the carrion crow.

But, for now, you have only the memory of her mouth, a taste like peppermints. And that is your fading, sunny day beneath an autumn tree.

Breathe in.

This has just begun...