And yet when the church burned and the roof came down and revealed the stars above, Igor sat down and sighed with relief.
He was silent for a while staring at the ashes and the dust mixing with the sunlight, and the dancing silhouettes inside of it happily swinging their arms and axes.
But oddly enough, Igor kinda missed the priest. His ways to which he had become accustomed to weighed heavily on his soul. As he looked up unto the blue sky, studded with bracelets of lucy in the sky diamonds, it went a long way for him, to absolve himself per his feelings of guilt, thus satisfy his urge of bloodlust in a strange, reversal.
He knew the priest didn’t die, and he cared no hoot for the building there, now laying in a rubble of dust.
“Ah” Igor thought to himself. Didn’t someone once say that the greatest ceiling in the greatest cathedral ever created was the indigo blue starry night sky painted by the number 1 artist who never existed.
“Oh my god.” cried Igor — "that artist just streaked a shooting star across that great magnificent ceiling.
As he looked with hungry amazement, Igor felt all choked up trying to keep the tears from welling up and falling but failed. “Oh, what the hell” he thought.
"This is an aha moment beyond aha moments. “Just let it rip.”
Igor fell to his knees — and ever so silently — whispered a thank you.
So this is what it can be like to be me?
“Aha”…
oops you beat me to it, Jerkey. 
Arc, the image of the cathedral without roof is something you showed me once.
Igor felt the absence of the priest like the proverbial monkey had left - he was finally free to move about and look at the other persons in the world. The monkey had been wrapping its arms around Igors head and pressing its armpits against his nose, no other scents penetrated that odor - it seemed as if the monkey had many more arms than a monkey should.
Long gone the days of youth, when all of life was still ahead, and spring came in bursts of unrelenting freedom. Now, death looms, Towers have fallen, and all men are set loose on each other for the last scraps.
This world is a world to youth, and nothing besides.
Igor decides to stay forever young and gets out his balalaika.
No worries, Arc, art can happen spontaneously ,simultaneously between two afficionados in
best described as ‘synchronicity’
I really like 'spring came in spurts of unrelenting freedom, ’ Jacob
Good memory. Yes, if I’m not mistaken, it was in BTL - one of Scott Mutter’s surrational images.
Igor and I absolutely love his images.
His had an eagle overhead holding court, so to speak.
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But the most exquisite roof of our cathedral is the one which cannot be contained by a building…
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gtsyh
One of my favorite words - synchronicity, Mr. Jerkey
Igor in Hell
As he followed the lady in blue’s siren call, he oblige day followed.
He landed in an unknown place, bereft of all, except maybe his reason. This place was unknowable except the very fewest esoteric ally minded., perhaps anyone who may have occasioned on reading the biography of the author of sheltering sky, and Justine, and Balthazaar.
Looking at his wives’ biography, she was involved in a lesbian relationship with a local woman, a woman, of extra-ordinary powers.
Well, it is for her, that I write these, it is for her, that I credit her for anything written, experienced, or even perceived.
Igor. He is in a faraway place, cooking up a storm, a place where smoking is legal, you guessed it Colorado, the birthplace of John , the divine, the naturally high, …
Getting back, to her, she was in a very precarious yet deadly to love relationship, to death, 2 us part, ----and whatever I may have implied to you my friend, is of extremely uncertain value. you are right on on every point, except the love thing, where Christian values may yet triumph-----
Love Thy Enemies. Though you are not one. We are just spinning in opposite, not chosen directions.
To: John Denver
Igor looks out the window and sees a cat. And a squirrel!! Igor gets excited and puts on his coat. He walks outside and goes to meet the squirrel.
The squirrel comes forward and sniffs the ground at each step. Igor figures he should be doing the same but he is anxious about his image. So he slowly walks and meets the animal which then raises itself on two legs and squeeks. Igor, off his meds for 6 years straight, has no trouble interpreting. Smiling, he walks off.
As he does, the question of where does style , content, and form begin and end, as he thinks of the animals. Later in his sleep, ironically, he sees the animals as metaphors for some other things, and just before he awakes, he misses the significance of trying to connect them. He conceeds content to the author, yet does not feel capable, or indulgent enough toward the other two.
The other images become conflated somehow, and he wants to retrace his steps foreward and back from hades.
Should I outline it in chalk as a reverse hop-scotch of sorts. Men are too stubborn to ask for directions because they know it all. Ha!
No it’s quite evident. Ha Ha
But on second thought, not quite so. Igor the ape is gaining insight into complexity.
You are a jerk, but I’m sure you have at least one redeemable quality. You know your home. Where you belong. Where your smokin hot.
Are there any others?
I will not contest that, however, the contest is far from resolved, …at home? It is where the heart is, and try try and yet try again we must, to be trusted.
I can ignore you if that’s what you are edging me towards. I will rise and you will not. No matter your illusions and paultry distractions.