Hieroglyphics by Stephen Hastings-King

His voice unfolds in hieroglyphics. They tumble across a wall and echo in a courtyard where they are caught by a microphone that translates them into packets which are diverted into cables that carry them to relays that bounce them between satellites. Everywhere below hieroglyphics fall through the continuous shower of radio waves.

Late at night when the birds are silent and there is only film noir lighting on the marsh I see them fall like tiny meteors. When they hit the water they give off sounds as lines that wind like wrinkles in my hand.

I trace the melodies of carved symbols across my lifeline. They say: Locked in hieroglyphic language the truth. Truth is in another frame of reference. Whatever you think it is, it is other. Where-ever you are, it is elsewhere. Here is only here because of this exteriority.

Night after night I listen to showers of tiny meteors expire across the water.


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3 responses to “Hieroglyphics by Stephen Hastings-King

  1. guy

    I like that too long network in the 2nd sentence. I can hear anger in the paragraph about truth and i like that, too.

    • stephen

      thanks, comrade. i made this based on a photograph that amira sent me a few months ago of some street art in cairo. it’s for a project that she did around a series of walks through the city that paired the accounts with others done by folk from/in chicago. i was an honorary chicagoan for it, but made the piece about the marsh, about this curious openness at the level of..o i dunno…psyche i suppose, that was triggered by working with these images without context.

      it’s interesting that you read the lines about truth as angry…they’re riffs on the hermetic idea, which is linked to a fetishized understanding of hieroglyphics (not that far from hegel’s in the philo of history, actually..)

      i think they turn the piece inside-out, but that could obtain only in my private universe…

  2. Pingback: Week #43 – To the core | 52|250 A Year of Flash

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