Challenge #02216-F026: The Boredom Compulsion
This rumination on Queen's three types of songs, as seen by aliens trying to understand these odd Deathworlders. -- RecklessPrudence
If there is anything to cause the Human brain to skip a few gears, it's listening to The Prophet's Song followed by Fat Bottomed Girls. Both are clearly sung by the same man. Learning that both are written by the same man just makes the disparity more obvious.
One is a philosophical piece about those who foresee doom down the road and how they are treated by the general populace. The other is a diatribe in appreciation for ladies who have large buttocks. Even a novice could tell them apart. Then the hypothetical listener hears something like Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon. Frivolous, light and a seeming relic of an era long bygone before its author's lifetime.
It's at this point that the listener might wonder what the flakk was up with this one being of talent. Others would use him as a prime example of Human unpredictability and capriciousness. The truth, closer to the bone, is that those with a capacity to create have their emotions as a co-author at all times. Even the most serious creators just want to doodle around and have fun with what they do.
This is all the justification that other Humans use to do whatever they want for their non-commissioned pieces. They use the word 'just' a lot. "Just playing around," or, "just having some fun," or, "just seeing what I can do." Humans have wrought great works of amazing subtlety with 'just', as they have wrought works of disgusting grossness with 'just'. Works of genius on opposite ends of the spectrum, and all the way through.
Some... do it 'just because'. Give a Human a stick of carbon and a blank surface and it won't be blank for very long. Writing, doodles, there is no such thing as a Human who won't leave their mark in one way or another. There, the Humans come in two types, the destructive and the constructive. This captive Human was a constructor, and given a stick of carbon, had worked on art.
The walls were now covered in graphite. Words, rendered in fonts, shading for the same. Breathtaking renditions of plants, animals, and flowers. Intricate shading providing depth with artificial shadows. The Human was in the process of working on the ceiling, adding rough, swooping curves to the stark, white surface. Days later, they know, that ceiling will be covered in increasingly complicated art.
The Human climbed back down. "Hello?"
They were prepared for that. The Human could see through the window that they thought was impenetrable. That assumption had died quickly. The Samnathyk hoped that the Human would not kill anything else. They had decoded the Human's tongue and had a passing grasp of it.
"Hello," risked their expert.
"Little boring in here," said the Human. "I have everything I need, but some better enrichment might be nice."
The Samnathyk looked to each other. Consulted some notes while the Human watched them from a perch on their bedding. Ah. Enrichment. Something to occupy the mind, time, and need for movement amongst Deathworlders. Deathworlders with nothing to do were more dangerous than those with something to distract them.
"We are working on a more amenable environment," they said. "We just have one request."
"I'm listening."
"If we provide the materials... may we have more of your art works?"
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / comotomo]
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