The Green Felt Jungle

Walking into a Thomas Kincade "gallery" is like walking into a perpendicular pool table universe: everything is empasted into green felt that is dimly lit, like one of the subterranean passageways in Alien, except the walls aren't black They're green. All that is missing for that perfect creepy Kinkade Charm is the wetness dripping down the walls and the vapor rising up off them and Sigourney Weaver walking around terrified, with a flame thrower. The emerald green of the dark parlor is decorated with reproductions of Thomas Kinkade "paintings." I put paintings in quotes because - in my opinion - they are more like warning signs. Things you would post on a wall behind which were biohazards from other planets, other universes, other realities. His "Paintings" are lifeless, evenly lit little fairy scenes of cottages that the deranged, not the happy, elves from Brigadoon live in. A Mirror Brigadoon, a nightmare Brigadoon, that never disappears but remains above ground. Forever. The scenes within the frames are like Brigadoon scenes but kind of diseased versions of them, like a plague of bad, tasteless candy swept through the land and everyone ate some and then died of a dull and listless form of diabetes. If there was an occasional body hanging out a window, it's belly draped across the sill and its arms hanging down into the lawn, it would give the scenes a little more life, ironically. It would make them a lot less anemic and a lot less spooky. They would at least have the charm of an ill-attended cemetery. But there are no bodies, either dead or alive, no flesh, no blood, no bone, no muscle, no cartilage, no cells, no pulses, no energy, no blips, no beeps, no bags of oxygen expanding and deflating, no buzzing even of the flies upon the dead. For there are no dead. There are no bones. There are no flies. There are no evidences of anything ever having lived or died within
these zero-dimensional outposts of a soulless and pallid arena of spiritual emptyness. They are created by a rancid mentality and empty spiritual contagion of something beyond death, and almost beyond existence. And people cannot get enough of them.