To wake up and find oneself covered in feathers is a rather unsettling experience. To then find that these feathers were not scattered about as the result of some debaucherous pillow fight, but actually attached to oneâs body like some bizarre avian acupuncturing, is even more disturbing. To then find that one has in fact transmorphed into a bird, well, thatâs just odd.
This is what happened to Nolan. He denied it at first. When he attempted to raise his arm and found that it had become a wing, he thought he was hallucinating. When he stumbled in circles on his newly pronged feet and eventually toppled over into the dirt, he thought he may have taken magic mushrooms. When he attempted to pluck out his own feathers and found he was greeted with an immense amount of pain, he was certain that he had taken magic mushrooms. But the hours passed and his condition remained unchanged. Nolan convinced himself for a time that he was dreaming. But when he dove head first into a rock and found that the only change to his condition was an excruciating headache, the reality of his newfound form began to sink in.
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Itâs kind of strange when your friends have dirty floors in their houses, and they still want you to take off your shoes. I donât mind taking my shoes off when I enter my friendsâ houses. But when they ask me to remove my footwear, and then I have to step on a bunch of debris, I have to wonder why theyâre so afraid of the soles of my shoes.
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We prospect for rare gems and fertile meadows so luscious in all seasons. But the walls we erect to protect this humble gully can sully the very beauty we stood and chose firmly once the death and decay that must blow away as ashes scatter to all four corners to find a resting place too. As sun and moon chase the shadow of the lone LOON upon a remote ATOLL, we hold up high the most firm brick and mortar in hopes the all canât crawl so high.
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The song at the heart of the starship Escalante sang. It sang itself, as all songs must. As such, it was no different than the six solipsistic humans who populated the ship. But where the humans chattered and muttered and slandered their way into a stasis of perpetual self-reference, the song celebrated. âEngine seems chirpy today,â said the human called Helen. It was a misleading oversimplification. The song, after all, wasnât the engine, but the fuel for the engine.
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Video collage by Jonny DeStefano | Featured artists: Peter Kornowski ⢠Ryane Rose ⢠Ray Young Chu ⢠Jack Estenssoro ⢠Mark Mothersbaugh ⢠Jorge Mascarenhas ⢠Derek Knierim ⢠Jash Tracey ⢠Jason White