|
Nievendrasiel
fresh-thoughts |
|---|
|
Info
|
Galleries
|
Posts
|
Replies
|
| Info | |
|---|---|
| Template | 🐛 |
| Description | Leáves, like the things of man, you
When Nievendrasiel was a child, he had a tutor who insisted on the same thing being done over and over again until it was perfect. The same verse of the same song played on the same instrument in the same style, again and again, until it was mastered. Nieven quit. He said that he did not care about music anyways. Then he practised the flute in his own time. Mastery did not appeal to him. Perfection was meaningless. He wanted to learn many songs well-enough. He wanted to write clumsy poetry and sketch without settling on lines. He wanted to whittle a terrible bird and terrible fox and terrible flower. When he announced that he would travel, a relative said that human cities were so ugly. This provoked Nieven’s imagination. He wanted to see an ugly city, an artless city, a city swelling like a boil. A dusty city, a searing city, like a bird on a spit. He wanted to see the shapes of cities which did not exist in Kyonin and whose shadows he could not even envision. And then, when he was sick of all the ugliness, he would return home. That was the plan, at least. |