The Myth of Revolt Game
Players: Jason Abdelhadi, Armando Urias Anderson, Maria Brothers, Doug Campbell, Casi Cline, Steven Cline, Angel Therese Dionne, Janice Hathaway, Karl Howeth, Stephen Kirin, Megan Leach, Tori Lion, Andrew Mendez, Craig S Wilson, Claire Wylde
In the smallest thing is embedded a grain, which waxes and wanes, fills and leaves empty. You can taste it in a fruit filled with red, see it in the dust on an old photograph, smell it in a drunkard’s vomit or a flower’s perfume, hear it in birth cries, and feel it in your stomach. And one day, it existed.
On the 1st day, I woke up with dozens of hands growing out of my body. When I shook each one they all began to applaud and then they vanished.
On the 2nd day, a fume exposed the face of a train.
On the 3rd day, the first touch of sight; the ghost of a louse. They do not see the oily women hidden in the boreal forest. A pair of dentures breaches near Sable Island, howling at the wild horses and seabirds.
On the 4th day, each of us cut off a finger and cast it into the sky to become catasterismi. The blood from the cuts was kept and fed to the potato plants, whose tubers turned a pale pink and tasted of cardamom, to be eaten in silence by those who would one day rise up.
On the 5th day my work began. A thousand cuts across the sun into which I inserted powdered darkness destroyed the fly I magnified the ensuing enormous blackness on.
On the 6th day, the centipedes beneath the floorboards began to plot their escape. By evening they abandoned their plan and sculpted little soap animals instead.
On the 7th day, I woke from a deep sleep and found myself unexpectedly on a beach with walls of bamboo crowding in from all sides including the floor of the ocean.
On the 8th day, a brazen smile materialised in the wind.
On th 9th day, the secret armies of black cats emerged from their hidden fortresses, and assembled on every main street in silent rank and file.
On the 10th day, the sky split open casting the stars and moons to their knees. The wound puckered up collecting the worst that life can offer and labeling it with tags made from medals won in war.
On the 11th day a shard of glass made its arrangements for the dying laughter handing out mice to the hungry cement walls. Without a trunk it set out on its journey.
On the 12th day, eyes were opened to the sound of breaking waves of grass blades clashing in the flat field.
On the 13th day from my voice issued three other voices, one of blue perfumes, the other became a face without features in the silent film days, and a cloud that came out of the swimming voice of the third, rise and take me with it.
On the 14th day, darkness covers the land, a light shifts in the firmament. Five golden fallacies groom the stunning prince. Your egg cracks. The ocean of black goo parts to show a statuesque face. The eyes open and the deer unscrews his hooves. Out of the land of the hedgehog drifts cold stones, vibrating ferns and aardvarks. The eyelid pops and Frankenstein lifts your face. The curtain rises.