Invisible Networks #25: Connective Graffiti

Seattle is now widely considered to be the most beautiful city in the world. Scintillating patterns cover the sides of the buildings, even at heights where it should be impossible for graffiti artists to do their work unnoticed. But that's how it is. Cameras cut out for a few minutes at a time at random points in the night, and when the feed resumes a new pattern is in view on the same wall. Some people say it's the work of spirits, others insist that a secret society of artists use it to communicate in code so they can plan the uprising of a new political order. A few believe it's a collective organism that is only active at night.

But I've seen the hooded figures gather at the edge of the forests at the base of the Cascades. Every few months they show up with an unmarked pickup carrying the same cargo. A few containers of quicksilver, a grain bag filled with moth dust and one rose of each color, including colors roses shouldn't be. For a simple night's supervision of laboratory safety practices (as best as I can impose in these circumstances), they bring me along to a remote clearing where the moonlight is easy to bask in. They do their process, I don't ask any questions beyond what's needed to keep them from accidentally poisoning themselves or starting a fire, then they pay me generously in cash. I probably have enough information to put the pieces together and rat them out to the FBI, but they're nice folk and it's a good gig.

One time I did try to do some investigating for myself. I put my head up against the graffiti pattern on my apartment building and did my best to immerse myself in the memory of the full moon reflecting off of the simmering pot of prismatic mercury. It felt like ten minutes even though I probably only maintained contact for thirty seconds, and the things I heard gave me confusing and stressful dreams for three weeks. At the next scheduled gathering the hooded figure in charge paid me extra and gave me a knowing look, with no more needing to be said.

So now I just take the money, don't ask questions and make sure my mind doesn't once again slip inside the city's shifting artscape.