Amitabh Kumar

There was much around him that was losing shape and merging into each other. 

And there was no single image, object or vision. Nothing was specific, but a singular , combustive real. 

The operator's desk is where he sits and stares. Thats all he can do. 

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The projectile prophecies is an ongoing project about a secret cult that has discovered that one needs simply get into a que in order to control the world. They were known as the Prophesaurs. 

The Prophesaur’s. The new secret cult that had joined the cycle of cults that would one day control the world.

Controlling the cult that evening was the Prophesaur of History.

Q. But how could history be prophesized? One can’t prophesize about what was, since prophecy is the bullet that is waiting for the future. 

A. But he didn’t just prophesize about history, but rather how history would be interpreted in the future.

It was he who had prophesized the cycle of control, which said that everyone would get the chance to control the world and that ambition too had a queue. You simply had to get in it. The line was long, but it was the only way to truly ascertain when your chance would come. But what was control worth if it was shared or even serialized? The Prophesaur knew that they were two rows behind __________ and in front of them was ______ with his pink sarong flying.

They lived under the immense pressure of this revelation and it made them see people and patterns that would stake control of the world before and after them. This would often lead to nerve chewing moments of anger and jealousy, where one of the Prophesaurs  was known to have bitten the ear of a man, another had thrown a cat of the window and the third would gatecrash parties of the present controller dressed as a blond Chihuahua. (There are rumors that this was the Prophesaur of Anxiety.. but this still needs to be verified). This piece of ancient wisdom led to nerve chewing moments of anger and jealousy, where one of the Prophesaurs was known to have bitten the ear of a man, another had thrown a cat of the window and the third would gatecrash parties of the present controller dressed as a blond Chihuahua. (There are rumors that this was the Prophesaur of Anxiety.. but this still needs to be verified).

This secret cult has laid low for a while. But now there time has come. Prophecies are being made.

But this piece is not a prophecy. It is about how the prophesaurs prophesize. 

It is about that operator who watches time. Doesnt  pass it, use it, fetishize it, run from it, run to it, shut it, kill it. He watches it. And by virtue of that reveals his location to the prophesaurs. It's always outside time. 

But this piece is not about his location either. Neither is It about him and the tragedy that became his sole preoccupation. 

It is about the prophesaurs and the operator and the friendly arm twisting between them.