337200720082009337-JB-ForFirstGroupReviewC1/3
Jan 27, 2017 16:41:35 GMT -5
barbarossa, capturemynd, and 4 more like this
Post by Jack Q. Pembry on Jan 27, 2017 16:41:35 GMT -5
Hello.
I've been following the project for a while now. Love everything you (guys?) are doing, but I'm still a little bit hazy on what exactly this is. Is it an ARG or an art project or social experiment? I only ask because I was a part of an art collective until recently myself. We were mostly performance art, but I was part of our publicity team and fancy myself pretty handy with video editing and blogging and such.
If you or your crew have any interest, drop me a line at Copperfist@******** or check out my portfolio at *********.
***
Any interest yet?
Hey there again. Not sure if you got my last message or not. Sure you were absolutely swimming in messages at the time, but now that things have sort of. . . imploded and interest is dwindling on UF and the boards here, couldn't help but wonder if you would reconsider my previous message:
[Body of original message copy and pasted verbatim]
If I'm speaking with Senor Bambos, let me assure you that this is salvageable. Or we could do a spin-off or new project if you'd like. Keep me in mind. Hope the day is finding you well.
***
So sorry.
Very regrettable behaviour on my part. It was just frustrating to know I was so close to being brought within the circle. . . you must know that I admire you all very much. All the more after our chat last night. The discrepancies in my tale obviously show the lie of it all. There was no cruise ship and certainly no foul play I partook in. I can admit to that. Suppose you've sussed that all out already. But you must admit that my storytelling used more than an impressive amount of corroborating evidence and factual detail.
Something to keep in mind, yea?
!!!
Approved.
After this, our correspondence must be via email. Are you using your CopperFist account still?
The religious and mythological elements are there to provide the supernatural backdrop required by some. That's half the answer and half the truth. I will ask you not to speak so low of Bambos or his narrative devices until further developments, and especially not when in Union discussion. You are not to speak of [Group 1] to [Group 2]. Be proud to even know of the former. Compartmentalization is key. The project requires parts functioning independently of one another. Communication breakdown enhances everything in what we do.
And as to your desire to completely void what has come before, let me assure you that there are such fantastical things in this world.
When I was twelve, I fell asleep on my school bus. My brother had stayed home sick that day. I awoke to find us in the middle of a rural road near a field I was unfamiliar with. Save the driver, I was completely alone. He sat in his seat, ashing his cigarette into one thermos and drinking from another. When I spoke up, he shouted at me for not staying awake, for not paying attention. He then, very urgently, asked me if I needed to use the bathroom. I did.
So I marched to a tree in the field, my driver following a good ten feet behind. I realized the field wasn't quite as expansive as it had seemed at first and ended on the crest of a hill. It appeared very steep back then, but I have seen it many times since, and it's not exactly an intimidating drop to the adult mind. Still, it seemed like a canyon at that moment.
And I realized that there was something profoundly wrong with this. I realized that the tree was terrifying and a place of poison. I realized that the driver should have remained on the bus. My heart and head felt like they were in a vise that squeezed tighter as the distance between the tree and I shortened. So as I finally neared it, I took off running. Not back to the bus. Over the hill. And I fell. Tumbling down dirt and rock and roots, I lost my breath, and the last memory of that day I have is of my brother standing over me. There was nothing in his eyes.
I awoke the next morning for school. There is no memory for the in between. My father and mother never spoke of me having been missing or hurt. My brother remained sick but ignorant of my experience. The driver did not so much as give me a second glance that morning. None of the other kids asked me what had happened after being left on the bus. No commentary on it at all, actually. My fear of the driver and buses in general remained, but it was numb with the grogginess that comes before a great awakening. One that would soon be hastened by other events in my life.
Did I dream it? A false memory? Am I dead? Did the bus careen off the road and hill that day? Did the driver kill me once I made it to the tree?
When I was fifteen, I returned to that place and confirmed its existence. A wooded area, thick with more benign trees, ending near the bottom of the hillside. A path leading up to the "field". One lone, dark tree near the edge. I spent much of my teenage years there, thinking about that mystery and others that would come.
This is what I want for people. You probably still don't understand, but in your capacity as my protege and brother, you will grow to learn the purpose of this. The reason we've all found each other.
Respond only once with confirmation of your active email. I will be initiating all contact exclusively from this point on.
Welcome, Joseph.
I've been following the project for a while now. Love everything you (guys?) are doing, but I'm still a little bit hazy on what exactly this is. Is it an ARG or an art project or social experiment? I only ask because I was a part of an art collective until recently myself. We were mostly performance art, but I was part of our publicity team and fancy myself pretty handy with video editing and blogging and such.
If you or your crew have any interest, drop me a line at Copperfist@******** or check out my portfolio at *********.
***
Any interest yet?
Hey there again. Not sure if you got my last message or not. Sure you were absolutely swimming in messages at the time, but now that things have sort of. . . imploded and interest is dwindling on UF and the boards here, couldn't help but wonder if you would reconsider my previous message:
[Body of original message copy and pasted verbatim]
If I'm speaking with Senor Bambos, let me assure you that this is salvageable. Or we could do a spin-off or new project if you'd like. Keep me in mind. Hope the day is finding you well.
***
So sorry.
Very regrettable behaviour on my part. It was just frustrating to know I was so close to being brought within the circle. . . you must know that I admire you all very much. All the more after our chat last night. The discrepancies in my tale obviously show the lie of it all. There was no cruise ship and certainly no foul play I partook in. I can admit to that. Suppose you've sussed that all out already. But you must admit that my storytelling used more than an impressive amount of corroborating evidence and factual detail.
Something to keep in mind, yea?
!!!
Approved.
After this, our correspondence must be via email. Are you using your CopperFist account still?
The religious and mythological elements are there to provide the supernatural backdrop required by some. That's half the answer and half the truth. I will ask you not to speak so low of Bambos or his narrative devices until further developments, and especially not when in Union discussion. You are not to speak of [Group 1] to [Group 2]. Be proud to even know of the former. Compartmentalization is key. The project requires parts functioning independently of one another. Communication breakdown enhances everything in what we do.
And as to your desire to completely void what has come before, let me assure you that there are such fantastical things in this world.
When I was twelve, I fell asleep on my school bus. My brother had stayed home sick that day. I awoke to find us in the middle of a rural road near a field I was unfamiliar with. Save the driver, I was completely alone. He sat in his seat, ashing his cigarette into one thermos and drinking from another. When I spoke up, he shouted at me for not staying awake, for not paying attention. He then, very urgently, asked me if I needed to use the bathroom. I did.
So I marched to a tree in the field, my driver following a good ten feet behind. I realized the field wasn't quite as expansive as it had seemed at first and ended on the crest of a hill. It appeared very steep back then, but I have seen it many times since, and it's not exactly an intimidating drop to the adult mind. Still, it seemed like a canyon at that moment.
And I realized that there was something profoundly wrong with this. I realized that the tree was terrifying and a place of poison. I realized that the driver should have remained on the bus. My heart and head felt like they were in a vise that squeezed tighter as the distance between the tree and I shortened. So as I finally neared it, I took off running. Not back to the bus. Over the hill. And I fell. Tumbling down dirt and rock and roots, I lost my breath, and the last memory of that day I have is of my brother standing over me. There was nothing in his eyes.
I awoke the next morning for school. There is no memory for the in between. My father and mother never spoke of me having been missing or hurt. My brother remained sick but ignorant of my experience. The driver did not so much as give me a second glance that morning. None of the other kids asked me what had happened after being left on the bus. No commentary on it at all, actually. My fear of the driver and buses in general remained, but it was numb with the grogginess that comes before a great awakening. One that would soon be hastened by other events in my life.
Did I dream it? A false memory? Am I dead? Did the bus careen off the road and hill that day? Did the driver kill me once I made it to the tree?
When I was fifteen, I returned to that place and confirmed its existence. A wooded area, thick with more benign trees, ending near the bottom of the hillside. A path leading up to the "field". One lone, dark tree near the edge. I spent much of my teenage years there, thinking about that mystery and others that would come.
This is what I want for people. You probably still don't understand, but in your capacity as my protege and brother, you will grow to learn the purpose of this. The reason we've all found each other.
Respond only once with confirmation of your active email. I will be initiating all contact exclusively from this point on.
Welcome, Joseph.