This I know, the symbol is the gateway to delusion,
Blurring to deceiving smoke
The border between fact and error.
Making havoc in the brain’s fine algebra,
By symbol, the fantastic structure is made too strong,
Too firm a palace against sad reality.
She has been kidnapped from her usual world of glitter and luxury, and now her narrative strides to one completion that has always been possible. The international star known as Bellefleur is depicted in the course of her murder by a mysterious assailant.
Look, and no need too look closely either. The canvas gag has created a trickle of red at the mouth’s corner,
Running down the perfect features,
Dropping her to the cheapest horror starlet.
The eyes are bulged, as domed as the Dome of the Rock. At the temples stark veins have appeared.
Her left shoulder, the only one visible, is an exposition of grime on porcelain.
Parallel shadows, the background hints at industrial steel pipes. A disused factory of some sort. Exactly the sort of place known to be used by
The international star Bellefleur has only a moment left under God’s light. Were it not already too late, it might be possible to seek her rescue.
Horrific — except the depiction of Bellefleur is only an image.
The maker of the piece is Lisa Lie. A pesky Sceptic.
Obstinate. Contrarian. Atomic power, no thanks,
Prone, by all her schooling, to fling wide the arms and scream out: OPPRESSION!
Clearly a very unstable character.
Fury spurts, that the artist could have been so remiss.
A speck up against the power layers of the State, with ministers and archbishops and executives channeling the propaganda flow against her. All of these very disciplined, while her discipline remains to be tested.
What she represents in the scheme of things is the gadfly, and there will arguments over her necessity.
Reflected in the pupil, is it, the glint of a knife?
How much, on a scale from very much to totally, is Lisa Lie to be associated with the mysterious assailant?
By the linkage of symbol, she dunnit.
(We all dunnit, the voyeurance?)
No, of course it is completely clear what has happened. The artist has killed Bellefleur.
Bellefleur’s ‘people’ — a euphemism for the servants she engages — present a public face of umbrage. (Hurt, aggrieved, less than fury — whining.)
It glode from their mouths, enmity only.
Outrageous, intolerable. Redress is required.
They are not outraged when they reach their own homes. Everybody knows this and understands it.
But then there is that film to think about — which Bellefleur was undoubtedly in — that grittily realistic depiction of crime on the city’s tough streets. Held hostage by the villain, he used her as a shield when the hero first time came calling.
She was struck in the arm, fleshy part, with a bullet (from the heroic gun, even), and nearly killed.
That can’t be wished away.
[End of preview]