James Tiberius Kirk (
boldygoing) wrote2017-06-08 09:37 pm
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Road Trip [for losthunter]
It's a beautiful spring day in Riverside, Iowa. The skies are clear and the weather is pleasantly mild, and across the endless fields that stretch out into vast distances, automated farm machinery is hard at work planting corn for the season.
There's no such machinery around the Kirk farm, though someone has bothered to zap away some of the weeds threatening to devour the foundation. The old homestead still sits disturbingly empty, all but abandoned if not for a few small signs that someone has been there recently. One of those signs sits just outside the house, leaning up against his motorbike as he waits for another rider to come join him, a set of riding goggles resting against his forehead.
The motorcycle has clearly seen better days, but it's nothing like twenty-first century bikes. There are no spokes in the wheels, for one thing - indeed, the wheels don't even seem attached by anything visible, held in place by some invisible force. It's keeping itself upright without a kickstand, as well, even though the young man in question is leaning most of his weight against it.
There's no such machinery around the Kirk farm, though someone has bothered to zap away some of the weeds threatening to devour the foundation. The old homestead still sits disturbingly empty, all but abandoned if not for a few small signs that someone has been there recently. One of those signs sits just outside the house, leaning up against his motorbike as he waits for another rider to come join him, a set of riding goggles resting against his forehead.
The motorcycle has clearly seen better days, but it's nothing like twenty-first century bikes. There are no spokes in the wheels, for one thing - indeed, the wheels don't even seem attached by anything visible, held in place by some invisible force. It's keeping itself upright without a kickstand, as well, even though the young man in question is leaning most of his weight against it.
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The Cedar Rapids Museum of Art is downtown, and they have to cross over a wide river to get there. Jim slows further as they roll up outside the museum, a wireframe sculpture on the front lawn indicating they're in the right place. There's a small strip along the edge of the road that seems to be reserved for parking, and he rolls the bike to a stop inside the marked-off zone. "One good thing about biking is finding parking is easy," he remarks to Hunter, once the other man can hear him.
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When they slow down, Hunter notes the wireframe sculpture on the front lawn. He parks the bike beside Jim's bike. He laughs at Jim's comment, turning his bike off and removing his helmet.
"And pretty easy to navigate around traffic."
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Jim pushes his goggles up on his forehead again as he shuts down the engine and pulls out the startcard, slipping it back into his pocket. "I can't imagine how much more crowded these streets would've been a few hundred years ago."
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"Looks like they've got an exhibition on Andorian jewelry and ceremonial weaponry this year," Jim says as they head inside. "There's also a Roman art exhibition that's been going continuously for the last two hundred sixty-three years, which is pretty cool."
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"The Vulcans have this concept called 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations,'" he says as they meander through the gallery. "It comes into play a lot."
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"Especially now that you have access to the Nexus, I imagine it will come into play even more."
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"There's something kind of mind-boggling about being in a room with art that was made more than two thousand years ago," he says instead.
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"Art is often the best way to understand the cultures of our past. What we know about the cavemen was best described by the drawings they left on cave walls."
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He looks over at Hunter as they stop in front of a vase, chipped and cracked, but still clearly painted with images of heroes and monsters. "Do you ever think about how future generations might see your art?"
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Jim enjoys this kind of debate, a friendly sort of give-and-take with no dire circumstances at stake. It's purely intellectual, theory only, and he's not stubbornly fixed in one opinion or the other. "I can see both sides of the argument," he adds with a smile. "Dull, boring history leaves nothing to the imagination. Like this vase... were there really monsters, back then? Probably not just like this. But there could've been. And if there weren't, was there really a battle, and if so, who were they really fighting? Or is it metaphorical?"
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"But I also have paintings where I embrace the metaphorical. Sometimes it is about trying to express what you feel..."
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Dreamwidth at it again...
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