Apollo's Downfall

Once, a poet king boasted his words to be able to heal, his songs to be able to cure. The crowned poet laureate would deify not only speech and rhythmic, but his own image. Apollo Indiges became the sun. Makes it justice — whereas he didn't invent the lyre, it was him alone who mastered it. The synaesthesia was guaranteed as he leveled the sonics of the strings with the reach of his voice, fused with the tones from the visible light spectre and the warmth of the celestial body. A flame warm enough to those seeking a haven, too hot for those who were def to the chorus of living things.

But the visible spectre is limited, the barriers of complete light and dark are just hints of the things that exist. For boasting, ascending into his own godhood of sorts, even the sun is dwarfed when facing the universe. This light is engulfed in the abode of the force which splits the universe, the darkness which expands. The once fleet of foot now spiral downwards to reach no ground in the immensity of the maze of dimensions. Feeling once again the sting of the limb-loosener, all four limbs are useless to move up, resulting into the ecstatic dance of descent. Colours he once cherished twisting, sounds he made to instill love now warped into a symphonic aberration. All that follows the arch-dreamer now are his hopes, as they too, fill no void. There's sentient blackness waiting around every corner. The force that splits the indivisible, that is — chaos — comes from the ultra-violet and infra-red entities, taking forms as if just to mock the light spectre they dim in their embrace. Hot Ultra-Violet numb the senses to coldness. Colder Infra-Red reveals that in darkness, even dim light can blind one's vision, with ardent brightness. A reel of kalpas follow to undo what was done, and then repeat once again, star clusters back to dust, to have things expand in no firmament, to fall but never reach the bottom. Things spoken, names given, returning to nothingness and not being there to tell that they once were; the sense of what is to come, the gift of prophecy, made a flybait repeat of experiences faked and mimicked by the daemons once unseen, now revealed. There are multiple beginnings, no first one, yet the end is always the same — once for a fleeting moment, one the dreamer sought — the boastful sun which once tried to erase the other multiple gods, now finds the twisting pressure, at last!

Iridescence, the quality of showing luminous colours that seem to change when seen from different angles, is achieved for the multi-faceted dreamer when the trial of the chaotes welcome him to their embrace, now bathed in all forms of radioactivity. What was unity, shall forever break apart.

Mixed Media/animated GIF: Ink drawing over paper (A4) & digital colouring/animated edit. Original (ink) Artwork done in October 28th 2017. Drawing, Illustration, Animation and Text by me — this is my participation for the 1 of 1 event.
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