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Holes In Plot Bigger Than Plot Itself said...- Salad is not a language. Any salad is akin to a boulder with complex forms, with striations and engraved designs atop and within, which humankind can decipher in a thousand different ways without ever finding the right answer or the best one. By virtue of this multiple exegesis, salad evokes all manners of phantasmagoria, as would a catalyzing crystal. Personally, I wanted to deal with the voids that surround us, and within which we live. The most formidable ones being those linked to our destiny, to life or death, and visible or invisible universes. The signs sent out to us by these voids are also composed of light and sound, engaging our two principal sense. This is why SALAD (sourced after liminal anatomy diatope) seeks to be a place where signals of these worlds can be condensed. Rational knowledge is combined with intuitive knowledge, i.e. revelation. It is impossible to dissociate them. These voids are unfathomable, which is to say, their knowledge is in perpetual and desperate flight punctuated by hypothetical milestones throughout time.
- Holes In Plot Bigger Than Plot Itself said...
- A salad, bechickened with "new" Ranch-EE!-Kyoo (ranch betwixt BBQ betwixt ranch &c. in postures of fusion whose calculus must ever stay lodged in the pipelines of genius, may they who drink from that cream-tap not soon any longer languish previously unknown, driving such celestial exemplars as this, our ""new"" Ranch--EE!--Kyoo), I say, """new""" Ranch---EE!---Kyoo dressing that exerted as well its persuasive "edge" of tantalizing innovation, was festooned with tajazzles of free-reared red fried onion, pardon: fried, free reared onion, née mauve more than crimson. It was as if they floated there, on fine waves.
