There is an allure that surrounds the structure. A magnetism embedded in the copper cladding, interlocking stairs, raw steel framing. A hive of aimless human activity. A place where people pay to ponder a mass testament to our striving and success juxtaposed against the flow of nature swirling just at the edge of the island.
From a distance it looks like a vortex meant to suck you down into its core. A cross between a Bermuda Triangle and Venus Fly Trap. When John and Jane Doe laid eyes on it for the first time they immediately understood its purpose. An altar for a particular kind of sacrifice. A setting built for performance. The only thing that will please the gods of commerce who’ve constructed it is to climb to the top, look out across the expanse, and contemplate the unthinkable. They inch so close to the edge that it only takes a slight error or twist of fate to send them tumbling over the edge into the concrete void. An unintentional metaphor for life lived in public, constantly watched.
The vessel feels like a cold art piece that is devoid of meaning and purpose when not the backdrop for ceremony. Did John and Jane intend to commit suicide there, like so many others, or was the construction of the death machine the impetus for the act? An idea only crystallized when given tangible form. I don’t know…
