Snowmelt reveals the detritus of winter weeks: wrappers, cans, tiny gloves for tiny hands. Spotless powder obscures boundaries as it mutes all except our crunch. In its thaw, we return to a routine of dirt and divisiveness—gridded lacunae demarcated by fractured walkways and forgotten doorknob flyers. A wash of sound enfolds you.
In Another New Calligraphy's third Impossible Task, moths infest popcorn ceilings while hungry ants kiss around a minor oasis. Overhead, the sky seems to wobble and sink—fancy yourself being a quantum. Cardinal mates observe each other from afar, while tongues snap inside the roar and girls pick blossoms with mummy hands. An artillery shell whooshes a mile. A building emerges from some other place and time. Collective consciousness reconfigures creativity and the threat of death looms beneath fluorescent lighting. A blue shield's protection is nominal at best.
Please give yourself a quiet moment to enjoy Impossible Task.