Monday, November 10, 2014

Pentrable de Chicago

It’s like plastic rain, like walking through the beaded hippy curtain covering the doorway of an entrance in 309. It was surprisingly quiet inside of the mash of silicone, but with just a little movement, sounds like rain falling down. No clicks or thuds, but just waterfall, avalanche of white noise.

The stringy plastic slips across flesh and leaves behind strange trails.

Walking through the fronds of a jellyfish’s out-flung spindly tentacles, if jellyfish were silicone instead of jelly, but not like that at all.


It was calm inside.


There was touch everywhere, at first disturbing, then like the caress of a lovers fingers washing over you as you move. It was impossible not to stick out my arms to feel this floating over more of my skin; to want to catch the feather-like silicone rain in my fingers and pull out it, to grab it like a lover’s hair and shake it.

It was the clawing around my neck that finally rushed me out, breaking me into a moment of uncomfortable giggles before I rushed out.

“You started a trend. As soon as you got in so did everyone else.”

I looked behind me into the instillation to see it was true. Where it was empty when I entered there were at least 15 people clawing their way through it now.

Outside of it, I paused; looked into it, thinking. For some reason this thing was very enticing to me, to my flesh, and the more creative cognitive part of me. There was a weird sort of beauty to this inverted waterfall. We both walked through it again, enjoying the strangeness of it until we both felt it time to move on.

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