THIS IS UPON YOU.

ALTAR:  LOOK INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES. TOGETHER.

APPOINT:  CHOOSE ONE.

Your sense faculties grope the world. Stall out your optical units and you can briefly peer beyond.

Operationalize AWAY. Is it a destination or a distance?

@timetear  /  @metuere  /  @miscreating  /  @voirverite

LOOK INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES.

IRRESOLVABLE.

@miscreating LOOK INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES.

@voirverite LOOK INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES.

@timetear LOOK INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES.

@metuere INVITES US.

Four is stable enough.

@voirverite INVITED US.

@voirverite INVOKED US.

@timetear INVITED US.

There is no context provided for this interaction, no established reason for Perry and Howie to be together (leaving Howie in a state of unease). Except that some higher force summons it.

          “Perry, I am having this strange sense of being watched. And brown. Watched by brown eyes. Perry? Perry? Your eyes, they’re–”

When Perry looks at Howie, Perry’s eyes still. Perry’s pupils melt open and color pours out and into Howie’s. This is odd. Color pouring out of Perry’s pupils is odd, of course. But beyond that. These words feel rote. Preordained. But Howie’s never done this before. This is happening right now. Perry is here, standing in front of them. Why does it feel like this has already happened? Howie’s eyes shake in rapid, involuntary movements as though performing a pattern or tracking something they’re incapable of seeing. That feels said, too. This has happened, Howie knows this has been said. Can be said. Come on, Howie Do. Do, Howie Do, do.1

          “They hold each other’s gaze and their eyes move in the same directions. You might assign meaning to such synchrony. Three isn’t stable enough. Look into someone else’s eyes.”

Howie laughs, triumphant, despite their eyeballs feeling like they’re about to roll belly up and die:

          “I said it!”

Howie closes their eyes and rubs them deeply, trying to massage the soreness away, but finds, instead, that the absence of sight seems to subdue them: the movement stops. Howie opens their eyes and the movement starts again. They keep their eyes closed.

          “What, what does–”  Helpfully, but hastily (wanting to get back to their original question):  "Close your eyes. What does it mean, Perry? How did this happen to you?“

[1]  Through the power of liberally interpreted capitalization, they speak!

I/WE/@miscreating SEE/S @voirverite​ WHO DOES NOT BLINK.

When you look at each other @miscreating’s eyes still. @miscreating’s pupils melt open and color pours out and into @voirverite's. @voirverite's eyes shake in rapid, involuntary movements as though performing a pattern or tracking something you're incapable of seeing. You hold each other's gaze and your eyes move in the same directions. You might assign meaning to such synchrony.

Two isn't stable enough.

You do not feel the familiar relief you know would follow if you had blinked. You do not seek the familiar and the familiar is not seeking you. Because the familiar is stagnant.

You do not blink.

Your eyes begin to sting.

You do not blink.

The dust grows prismatic colors and bleeds out into the night. Its glow illumes itself: millions of specks of dust congeal before you. It could have required a witness or attunement. It could have required innumerable things or unsayable things or nothing at all. Whatever the cause, you are it. The dust coats your eyes and it burns. You try to blink but you can’t because beyond the precipice of pain is an ephemeral stream of color—previously chimeric—pushing into your pupils (fully eclipsing your iris from the force) smothering your vision. The color is gone. Your eyes go limp from exhaustion. Somehow, you can feel the red veins in your eyes shift hues. Your eyes shake in rapid, involuntary movements as though performing a pattern or tracking something you’re incapable of seeing. The compulsion: look into someone else’s eyes, look into someone else’s eyes, look into someone else’s eyes. You hear three four five eyelids blink.

Look into someone else’s eyes.

I DO: GO TO THEM NOW.

Have you ever wondered if another living thing is doing precisely what you are doing at precisely the same time? Somewhere someone just inhaled a lungful of air at the same time as you—the likelihood is nearly certain. Yet, this knowledge feels stiffened and stale. Three Four Five sets of eyelids blink. You might assign meaning to such synchrony. Events in life are causal. Something occurs which incurs another thing to occur. If the same three four five events occur concurrently is there cause then the same? Is there any way to know?

Three Four Five sets of eyelids blink.

Without something as simple and distilling as time establishing coherency you know with awed certainty three four five sets of eyelids blink. One of them is yours. Something is upon you: a weight as grand and imperceptible as gravity. Figurative and/or literal, the difference feels moot. The clarification would provide no clarity—or comfort.

Three Four Five sets of eyelids blink.

The dust is gone.

Why did you blink?