September now draws to a close. I nights are beginning to get fat and heavy; longer; darker. We’re well and truly rolling into the twilight of the year. At the start of this month I gave you a picture which I entitled The Journey. An image which is quite clearly of a seriously massive [technical term] desert. There’s something perverse about this. Not in of itself, but simply because large chunks of my home country and the surrounding regions were very recently, mostly underwater. I’m sure a better, more philosophical man than I could make some point about dissonance and duality, but my general reaction was largely composed of a simple and succinct “woah.” A ten foot rise in water levels generally has that effect when you’re not being directly effected by it. At the end of the day sand basically just like water right? Except less wet, more solid and chemically different. That si to say, not like water at all. But it does however share a propensity for eating things just at a considerably slower rate. Flood water thrashes and bashes and necks its food like a mad gannet with a gizzard full of PCP. Sand takes it slow, it nibbles and savours. It’s a connoisseur of the devouring of human endeavour.
I made a bit of a meal of this month’s wordascope. I didn’t even start until about a week ago and a good 90% of what I did end up writing was mainly written last night and this morning. As I always say “Nothing focuses the mind like sheer, blind panic.” I’m not quite sure how to describe what I produced in the end. It is of course, like everything I write, a bit grim. It lingers in the hinterlands of philosophy, but not the good kind, the half-assed home-brewed kind. There’s a slightly “deathy” undercurrent to the whole thing as well. The opening couple of paragraphs were inspired by how I felt at the start of this week. I had a truly awful cold and spent a good few days trying manfully not to die.
This month once again saw James Clayton waltzing out into the Pictonaut arena. Getting his wordascope all nice and finished by the 10th. And he really got his philosophy on for his effort. It’s almost deep. I also received the first tweeted wordascope, courtesy of Laundry_King. A brief tale of only 72 characters which has a kind of self-contained beauty all on its own. It simply reads “Man looks out over fourth dimensional wasteland. His future is terrible.”
The slightly longer tales of myself and Mr Clayton can be found here:
James Clayton – Nothing is, in of itself, something
Ali George – Lights, camera, action!
The Rogue Verbumancer – What lies ahead?
The Mick– Oh what a tangled web life does weave
Susan Tarrier – You’ve just got to keep walking
Tonks – Dreams of home
Remember to check back tomorrow for the beginning of October’s Pictonaut Challenge.