Theolonius

Inspired by recent trip to Hong Kong, where old meets new in unimaginable ways.

A dark, shadowy room. Much higher than necessary, with no visible entrance in sight. Wires, cables, constructs  - all drape from above like tusks of fallen elephants. Solitary light bulbs flashing on and off throughout the dark maw of arcane-looking machinery suspended from the ceiling, barely penetrating centuries of dust. A lone source of light completes the drama - shining through an unseen opening high above, gleaming tower of light penetrating the darkness.

And in the center of it all, caught between the war of light and dark is a lonesome figure. A small, hunched silhouette, head bowed down. Hands spread out, wires running through his veins, out and zipping up into the tusks. Clad in tattered robes of what was once vibrant red and orange, cloaking untold amounts of mechanical protrusions dotting the back, neck and spinal cord of this figure. Easily mistaken for a stone statue, the only hint of life being the slight twists and turns of his shriveled hands.

Hard to explain where this is, or what is taking place. Time of day, season, year, century - all stripped away from the solemn mystery. Ditto for the star in the center of it all, the scene one big surreal work of art. Searching for answers, where does one find them... In the faint draft, flooding in from the floor, raising particles of dust up the beam into the lights of heaven? In the echoing stoic wail of stone walls and columns pressing against each other for millennia? Or in the cryptic poem of symbols stenciled along the porcelain face of our silent hero. Look hard, you tell yourself. Look hard, and you will find…
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