For the several years I frequently worked on two sculptural portraits, a rose, precisely like this one, grew tall enough by each October—about nine feet high—to appear to be checking out the work, and me, from outside my backgarden workroom window.
This year that rose suffered some kind of catastrophic collapse, though a cutting I’d taken from it three years ago finally rooted other side of the yard. My creative anthropomorphic imagination ascribed the notion that perhaps the original had simply wi-fied most of its energy over to its now magnificent clone.
And out of this attribution of a somewhat “spooky action from a distance”: a perfect rose of an idea—that entire cluster of so called supernatural / spooky / inexplicable buds-of- energy-transfer we have often been so scared of, or simply dismissed, or outright damned as the work of the devil: psychic readings, telepathy, teleportation, clairvoyance, intuition, etc., are phonemena accomplished in as logical and natural a way as the one whereby we now transfer most of our data: WI-FI.
In spoof of my assigned anthropomorphism—a spooky Hallowe’en Wi-Fillière.
fillière 