Post by Fluory on Nov 27, 2006 20:08:27 GMT -5
[Just a simple description of two places. Yeah, yeah, it's really symbolic... But I don't feel like copying and pasting my explanation of everything. Go ahead and see if you can tell the not-really-subtle meanings behind things.]
Darkness hangs over the room, but does not oppress. Patterns of many different stars dot the floor. Each star is slightly different from the other. Bigger, smaller, more or less points, colored – each one is distinctly different in its shape and demeanor. The spectrum of colors and shapes on the floor casts a lively and vibrant- perhaps beautiful- glow about the room. A similar glow radiates down from the ceiling; but rather than images of stars, paths of color snake above. The paths change and flicker, distorting and curving, sometimes even joining with another path. Not one string of color stagnates, they always stay in motion.
From the complimenting glows of the stars below and the streams of light above, the true landmarks of the room standout. Books are visible in slots in seemingly random areas of the room, each book titled and talking of different things, different discoveries, different views. Each book is tagged with a pattern on the front of them, glowing in a silent compliment to the brighter stars and paths. Yet each pattern of shapes and colors on each book never repeats, but yet still glows brilliantly and stands out in its own way.
Pictures adorn the walls where the books do not. Each picture is different from the last, every single one meaning and depicting something different, none of them standing for the same thing nor using the same style. The frames around the pictures are another compliment to the light within the darkness; different shapes and styles of frames accentuate the work they hold, and yet connects the work to all else in their different, yet somehow complimenting glows.
Within the very center of the room floats- by its own device- the brightest piece of the room: a ring of contrasting and complimenting colors, the ring broken up into odd yet changing segments. The segments are all always slightly different, yet are able to stay together only by the differences in the shape and constitution of the piece. United in their difference, and in their contrasting and complimenting glows and shapes, the ring helps the stars and the flowing paths cast light into what would otherwise be total darkness. The shroud of darkness is still there, still distorting and hiding – but with the glow, it doesn’t seem so dark anymore under the iridescence of difference.
But a second room lies just before this one. Light instead of darkness hangs in the room, a square instead of a circle being the constitution of the room. The size of the room more than doubles the next, the room of the stars, but yet has less to offer. To look at the ground of the room was to be greeted with the image of monotony itself, each piece of stone tiling exactly the same as the one next to it. Each stone is worn and cracked in the same way, and each stone is unmarred in the same spot the next is. The ceiling reflects a similar tale, but yet slightly different. Misshapen or slightly defected stones are actually present upon the ceiling, each slightly different block cracked and scarred in different, deeper ways. Yet the scars on the differing panels are more heavily marked that the monotonous ones, and are on the verge of simply falling from the ceiling entirely.
Orderly bookshelves line almost all of the walls, but each book looks the same. They all have similar names, similar tales. To read one was to have read them all. None offered new information. Shadows cast by the bookshelves obscure what it touches, the shadows forever staying there. Never to be explored, never to be conquered. Paintings hung on the bare bits of walls all fill up the remaining space. Each painting means the same thing, is composed in the same way as the next one, much in a similar theme to the books.
Still statues are placed about in an organized manner throughout the room. Each statue an exact replica of the last one. Long, dark shadows fall from the facades of the statues, each shadow impenetrable and absolute – each shadow pointing towards the strangely embroidered door into the next room, the room full of darkness and stars. But yet the door is the only thing within the room that is dusty that can be seen in plain sight.
In the center of the room rests what once was a great centerpiece to the room. But it is no longer a symbol of anything great – a ring stone split into four, smooth segments sits upon the cold floor, slowly crumbling into dust. Cracks and dents mar the surface, but yet in a monotonous pattern devoid of deviation. With time it grows worse and weaker, yet it never will disappear. It sits there and decays in its great library and collection of conformity.
Darkness hangs over the room, but does not oppress. Patterns of many different stars dot the floor. Each star is slightly different from the other. Bigger, smaller, more or less points, colored – each one is distinctly different in its shape and demeanor. The spectrum of colors and shapes on the floor casts a lively and vibrant- perhaps beautiful- glow about the room. A similar glow radiates down from the ceiling; but rather than images of stars, paths of color snake above. The paths change and flicker, distorting and curving, sometimes even joining with another path. Not one string of color stagnates, they always stay in motion.
From the complimenting glows of the stars below and the streams of light above, the true landmarks of the room standout. Books are visible in slots in seemingly random areas of the room, each book titled and talking of different things, different discoveries, different views. Each book is tagged with a pattern on the front of them, glowing in a silent compliment to the brighter stars and paths. Yet each pattern of shapes and colors on each book never repeats, but yet still glows brilliantly and stands out in its own way.
Pictures adorn the walls where the books do not. Each picture is different from the last, every single one meaning and depicting something different, none of them standing for the same thing nor using the same style. The frames around the pictures are another compliment to the light within the darkness; different shapes and styles of frames accentuate the work they hold, and yet connects the work to all else in their different, yet somehow complimenting glows.
Within the very center of the room floats- by its own device- the brightest piece of the room: a ring of contrasting and complimenting colors, the ring broken up into odd yet changing segments. The segments are all always slightly different, yet are able to stay together only by the differences in the shape and constitution of the piece. United in their difference, and in their contrasting and complimenting glows and shapes, the ring helps the stars and the flowing paths cast light into what would otherwise be total darkness. The shroud of darkness is still there, still distorting and hiding – but with the glow, it doesn’t seem so dark anymore under the iridescence of difference.
But a second room lies just before this one. Light instead of darkness hangs in the room, a square instead of a circle being the constitution of the room. The size of the room more than doubles the next, the room of the stars, but yet has less to offer. To look at the ground of the room was to be greeted with the image of monotony itself, each piece of stone tiling exactly the same as the one next to it. Each stone is worn and cracked in the same way, and each stone is unmarred in the same spot the next is. The ceiling reflects a similar tale, but yet slightly different. Misshapen or slightly defected stones are actually present upon the ceiling, each slightly different block cracked and scarred in different, deeper ways. Yet the scars on the differing panels are more heavily marked that the monotonous ones, and are on the verge of simply falling from the ceiling entirely.
Orderly bookshelves line almost all of the walls, but each book looks the same. They all have similar names, similar tales. To read one was to have read them all. None offered new information. Shadows cast by the bookshelves obscure what it touches, the shadows forever staying there. Never to be explored, never to be conquered. Paintings hung on the bare bits of walls all fill up the remaining space. Each painting means the same thing, is composed in the same way as the next one, much in a similar theme to the books.
Still statues are placed about in an organized manner throughout the room. Each statue an exact replica of the last one. Long, dark shadows fall from the facades of the statues, each shadow impenetrable and absolute – each shadow pointing towards the strangely embroidered door into the next room, the room full of darkness and stars. But yet the door is the only thing within the room that is dusty that can be seen in plain sight.
In the center of the room rests what once was a great centerpiece to the room. But it is no longer a symbol of anything great – a ring stone split into four, smooth segments sits upon the cold floor, slowly crumbling into dust. Cracks and dents mar the surface, but yet in a monotonous pattern devoid of deviation. With time it grows worse and weaker, yet it never will disappear. It sits there and decays in its great library and collection of conformity.
