iridescent

Imagine an eyeshadow like the wing of a butterfly or the coruscating scales of a tropical fish, shimmering, sprinkling your eyes parallactically with a shower of the spectrum. When you look at it it looks back at you, into you, and you see it is a rainbow, and the pot of gold itself is the eye, the iris, the pupil, locking you in as it licks you lightly with the glittering mist. You are irrigated by it; it is the sprinkler and the rainbow, a light alighting under the eyebrows. It is eerie, almost indecent, but it is strangely becoming, this dissent from the stably perceptible; it irradiates you with a delicate psychedelic cycle, a descant on the clear colours of daily life.

It is iridescent.

It is like a fine wine’s bouquet on the nose, shifting from one thing to another: I ride scent, ride it like a dragon through the empyrean. I am the enticed sir.

It is instinct, a tincture of desire.

It is a riddle; it indicts as it indites.

It is intense, a sidereal incense or salitter for the occiput.

It is (Visual Thesaurus tells us) opaline, opalescent, nacreous, pearlescent; it is changeable, it is chatoyant.

It is not just the half-arc or a rainbow. It is the entire disc.

The disc of the iris. The disc of Iris.

Iris, the swift messenger of the gods, rider of rainbows. Iris, a rainbow, a ring for the irriguous. Iris, the rainbow of the eyes, the ring between limbus and limbo, the messenger that heralds and draws you into the singularity: the pupil that learns and teaches.

Iridescent, iri{s|d}-escent: becoming like an iris. Becoming like Iris. Shimmering with the many colours of the rainbow, bearer of infinitely mixed messages: a medium that massages and massacres. The eye.

And what becomes the eye. It may bow, or it may rain. Or both at the same time, as seen from separate eyes. It is whatever you discern in it, and always already also so much more.

2 responses to “iridescent

  1. Well, duh, that makes sense, and lovely to read.

  2. Pingback: nightfall | Sesquiotica

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