Happy New Year
新年快乐

Pagi menjadi malam
Mata semakin sejuk
Hati menjadi lumpuh
Datang sebagai wanita
Pergi sebagai malaikat

R.I.P. India's daughter

The world is singing a sad song
India lost a daughter
Heaven gains a kind soul
Rest now you are free and
In peace.

http://sg.news.yahoo.com/indian-gang-rape-student-fighting-her-life-060048532.html

PJ & the galaxies - The Moldau

Ferenc F. conducts Moldau

Passions drive us to the cliff; some jump and dive, most just go blind. 

No choices left to posterity, all paying dues.

Extinct butterflies

On the second floor of Apartment B, a little girl is feeling lonely. Sickly, hair falling off and abnormally small, she has a weak heart and a very frail body. There is a large window next to her bed and a beautiful garden outside. Although almost always in pain, the girl hardly thinks about death; she likes cliche stuff, birds and butterflies, clouds in the sky. 

Every morning, she makes an effort to sit by the window for some sunshine. Unlike any other day, today, something magical is about to happen, and then a tragedy. It has to do with a couple of lover butterflies, supposedly extinct butterflies. She first sees them flying outside her window and later, chasing in the garden from flower to flower. Watching the butterflies is giving her a taste of freedom, even if it doesn't belong to her, she becomes so alive in the moment that she fails to notice another spectator in the picture; a mean kid who is hiding behind a blueberry bush and waiting to pounce. Weighing around 90lbs and 58inches tall, he's a bully who looks like a 10-year-old boy but really, he's barely 8. When the timing is right, the boy leaps out unexpectedly with a big yellow net. He catches the butterflies and traps them in a glass jar. 
Anxious and desperate, the little girl who sees everything grabs hold of a brand new slingshot tucked in the bottom drawer, it was her birthday present from last year. Using pebbles as ammunition and mustering all her strength, she fires! The first pebble shoots off but misses the target by a close inch. Made aware of her position, the bully is now marching towards her with angry eyes. It may seems like a disadvantage at first, but as he walks closer and closer towards her, the shorter distance between them allows her to aim with better precision. Leaning forward with trembling hands, she launches her second attempt and success! The jar shatters and falls into pieces; succumbing to gravity and muffled by the grass. The butterflies are free. However, no one is paying attention to them, women are screaming and babies are crying. There is blood on the garden floor and the lifeless body of a little girl who just fell from the second floor. Her soul becomes instantly attached to her last emotion, gathering broken pieces to somehow make it whole. No one told her to let go so she hangs on until time grows tired of her and then magic. She becomes a butterfly and time starts again. 

难过只把时间停歇在三度空间
要的自由始终是大家的。

爱我爱你的生命若只剩一月，怎么办？
海水握不住，浪潮停不了
别想我，我不想你
只要拥抱，没有私情的生灵舒畅
好不好？

When action is not aligned with intention makes a romantic liar. 

Rebels without a cause; moulding nothingness into tricks.

Joy is in the fleeting
Pleasure is in the clinging.

Redeem free anima on your next order.

Meributkan debu, hidup tanpa ragu-ragu.

把坏的萍果都扔掉, 管不着讨好心情,
别闹了, 突破瓶颈, 不再呻吟。

没有人的日子, 夜一样冷。
过分明白, 背后理由一样悲。

砰！我应声落马。
不许哭。

开心

什么是酸什么是痛
试回想最初尝到酸时...是吃了草莓还是橙子
当时是谁看见你脸上的表情，告诉你酸的名字
还记得第一次感觉痛是怎么回事
是在学骑脚踏车时跌倒还是大人的是是非非
什么时候变成抗拒，悄悄变化为恐惧
名号，含义还有决定
越来越胡涂，逐渐忘了中心
給你給我新的眼睛
静观宇宙，开心，窗外有光明。

If you climb to the top of a high mast and there is nowhere to go, leap into the void.
- zen

nothing

It's at the tip of the tongue, a pyramid capstone, pages from a sci-fi novel or the nameless card in tarot. Going beyond feelings, particles and duality, correct and collect. What's left? No more errors, no time of flight, no speed of light. What is? It's everything but not a thing. 

Not a salesman, we don't have to give another label whenever we identified the fault of previous label. Ponder not. Freedom from the known.

Full of surprises, the innately random quantum events are romantic realities in the eyes of the observer. 

There are some things so serious you have to laugh at them.
- Niels Bohr

Please

Observing the attraction and repulsion of things,
The unlike and like, the strong and the weak.
Emotion is only relevant when irrelative,
Living in the braneworld, we're brains in a vat.
Please, you're not fat.

My feathered friend with all unusual adaptations to facilitate flight.

Finding soulmate under ultra-violet lights
Reuniting nectaries and butterflies,
A Painted Lady, hummingbirds, bats and bees
Pollinating this mammalian drive
Overcoming death in a cycle of life
A kind of consciousness in the sky.

Sucking in the mother's milk, the rabbits are stress-free.
They fall into delta sleep, paralyzed without dreams.

High ceilings made her think she was small
The crash made her think she was death
Potions made her forget
Love reminds her of hope or fresh baguette.

Be watchful with your alpha, beta and theta,
The waves create tsunami, destroy worlds and forever more.

tick-tock

Eyes darting back and forth
Mr. Frog winding the circadian clock
Neither awake or asleep
Trapped in the middle of deep reach.
Take my hand, pull me out.
The nail is in a knot.
A hypnic jerk is it not? 

Susu

Suppose life sprang into existence five minutes ago
Suppose relativity is magnified, suppose you can fly
Suppose the god of dreams carry a dreamer
Suppose that is you.

During the day, the soul receives images

During the night, it produces images.

Hippocrates (469-399 BC)

All feelings
Store below 30° C.

Smile

The white dragon is afraid to look at the other direction.
He is more willing to swim in familiar waters.
The other side is but another layer with objects and subjects floating in time.
Fragile in nature,  perishable with a stare or a smile.

Take off your clothes

Peel off your skin

Break all your bones

Where is our soul? 

artwork: ARYZ

Chaos is amnesia splitting and spinning out of control.

You'll get better

Make believe this is,
just a yawn and a sneeze.
What a relief.

M&M

Menerokai dunia habuk
Mata semakin sejuk.

Listen

I killed an ant or maybe two
I talk about peace and listen to peaceful tunes.
How many of you are like me?
Like me?

Maybe

Have we met before little bee?

Have I forgotten or do I still owe you something little bee?

Were we lovers or enemies?

You are scaring me for flying so close to my face.

It's my fault, I forget this is a wonderland and I forget how to hear you speak.

Must be all the fake food I've been eating and maybe lack of sleep.

peace

Momentarily absolved from grief, Galena sees the world in a new light and the collapse of stuff that are unimportant before her eyes. The appearance of state is changing rapidly - a cup no longer a cup, a table oscillating into a seed...yet Galena sees clearly that its chemical composition remains the same. In her hands, rest the key to unlock all of the magician's codes but the persistent grief returns and blinds her once more. Galena weeps for a while, not for sorrow but for glee. Can't you see? It's possible to be free. The moon after the eclipse is full and blissful. 

Peace. 

Where did all the yogis go?

They are being reborn as diamonds, and some into gold.

Information is the resolution of uncertainty.
- Claude Shannon

Good Day Today

popo

My grandmother sat in the kitchen all day long,

it gave her glimpses of day to night and how time passed her by.

Her crippled legs forced her to sit and stay while the world drifted away.

Always waiting for someone to come home and turn on the light, 

her woven bamboo hand fan was more for chasing the mosquitoes away than to create breeze.
During magic hours, rolls of mozzies lined up and sucked on her legs like at a buffet table.

An old-fashioned girl, she never believed in doctors and hospitals. She believed in gods, faith and old remedies. But none saved her.

Tiny worms lived inside her legs and they caused her blood to change, poisoning her from within.

She died in the emergency ward and I was 7.  Moments before her death, she reminded her eldest son to give me money for sweets.

Sometimes,  morning like this is something else.

Einstein, 1954

A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for the few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty...The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to survive.

(Albert Einstein, 1954) 

Ferenc Fricsay conducts Smetena - Moldau

光明磊落就是人间自由。

We are not human beings having a spiritual experience.
We are spiritual beings having a human experience. 

- Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Two Gods

Can you spare a light? 
You won't embrace it.

You have plenty to give. 
And you'll change it back to your current state.

Just give me some of your children to light my way.
And you'll turn them into your slaves.

Not my fault if they enjoy my company.
Here take it. Suck the light out of me.

The soul is just a girl

He looks up at the flawless moon, a bright and perfect circle hanging in the sky. The night is young but he feels old and angry. Earlier this morning, he met some people that needed his help, there are always people...Tonight, flying from window to window, his burden gets heavier and his shadow becomes denser. Arriving at a bedroom window, he quietly creeps inside to where the sleeper resides, to a king size bed where a girl not older than 16 sleeps and dreams. Her reflection in the mirror reveals the external - an old woman with deep locks between the eyes but the soul....the soul is just a girl. People like her need his help, he tells himself the same speech every time.

Inches away from touching her face, he begins to hum a melody, pleasant and hypnotic, creating sound waves that quickly filled the room, only to gather and rearrange again at the sleeper's temple. Like obedient soldiers, the rearranged waves then break down the barrier of the mind and enter deep into her subconscious on his command. Immediately, the sleeper goes into shock and her whole body trembles violently. Eyes still closed, she screams in tremendous agony as though someone is ripping her insides apart...

When it is finally done, the waves swim out of her as echoes. The humming ceases and the echoes grow louder with true names of her demons. Without hesitation, he slays them one by one as though he has been doing this for a long time. Those that will not die, he swallows.

The more he swallows, the angrier he gets until the room can no longer contain him. BOOM. Spontaneous combustion!

As the sun rises,  she wakes up from a terrible nightmare where a strange shadow came through her window and exploded. More importantly, for the first time in a long while, she feels light and happy. 
Life is worth living, she feels as if she owes it to someone for her to live well. 

"There is a new Playground Slide and everyone is invited. It is a rather fantastic Slide that changes colours according to the sliders' mood like that of a mood ring. Red for adventurous, energized or excited, Yellow for imaginative, or just ok feeling, Bronze for jitters or Pink for fear. It has multiple parallel sideways and an underground downward spiral that no one knows how deep but the colour bright Pink can be seen emanating from below. With different, unexpected turns and accelerated speed, the ride seems to go on forever, leaving the sliders to their mindstuff...sliding deeper and deeper. Once you have taken the plunge, it is not probable to climb your way out but it is not impossible to exit the slippery Slide before reaching the bottom, and many have been successful. Look for the slit that reveals the rainbow or say Aum until your brain clears all its junks. I've already said too much, you see... the more I say it, the more likely you might fix it into something and you will be partly right about it too. Just not the absolute", the crazy man exclaimed.

My million thoughts are less in quantity but more in quality. I have successfully eliminated heavy thoughts that belonged to him and not useful anymore, perhaps they were never useful. I've buried the dark hair girl, and replaced her with binary codes instead. New ideas come to take the free space in my mind and they are mine. The circuits are telling me how I feel, and I feel powerful with my inalienable possessions. 

These thoughts, they make me more human everyday.

The serial killer dumps the lifeless body into the deep blue... 

Remorseless is he and full of hatred...he detests men, and his inability to accept the errors of men between good and evil made him who he is today. He particularly hates all shrinks, there were many who kept him from his crayons as a kid, and they never did fix him. They should have left him to his drawings, however horrific his drawings may be. 

The bloodstained killer looks up and the lighthouse is the only visible guide in the dark. 

The misanthrope, as an essentially solitary man, is not a man at all: he must be a beast or a god.... 

Aristotle

Today, a windless calm day. The soundless sound aum takes all listeners and leaves no prisoners.

"Here in the belly of the whale, what are you going to do? What will you do"?

Nelumbo - the time portal employed the same principle of a single lotus, the observation of a lotus produced seeds and flowers simultaneously unlocked the secret to manipulating past and present, cause and effects at the same time, but human mass will not allow it so they discarded it. Inside of Nelumbo, travelling as lights and faster, the freed humans begin to forget the sadness of losing their body and feel rather happy. 

Even if she has read about it and believing it but actions, her silly actions are always contradicting her.

It being a string of stimuli that carry meanings, meanings that matter to her and the world. A hero's journey, turning lead into gold, a space odyssey, the imaginations do what they do best when describing the most basic. It is everything and anything and nothing, hocus pocus nonsense that reveals the nemesis of deceit. 

Separated from birth, Sruiti and Smirty are twins who have become strangers. Leading different lives from one another, both are dreamers. As young adults, they are the outcasts in society and once declared insane by asylums' doctors in different states. 

On yet another Saturday, Sruiti hears it again, a bird singing a tune. Since young, he has been hearing the same sound over and over again, sometimes the bird sounded far away while other times inches away. Countless attempts has already been made at locating the source of the birdsong, but to no avail. The strange melody soon finds comfort in his mind and lingers there for a long time. 

Smirty remembers the place, he always remembers. The memory of crystals, silver, marbles, golden sands in a pure land. Giant clams and a phoenix co-exist here, and in a state of zen within a constant gentle breeze. Like a dream, this memory comes and goes. 

Neither one of the twins see it coming, the waves that sweep everything away. 

The city is falling and the walls are breaking as the flood takes everything, destroys everything except the sorry souls who are left behind to drown in their own sadness. 

When Sruiti and Smirty regain their consciousness, they begin to observe the world around them in wonder. The ground is covered with gold dust, Tridacna gigas, crystals, silver and marbles of blood red colours. The gentle breeze carries a familiar tune of kings and fools. Sruiti and Smirty wonder what or who is the maker of this melody, and a phoenix arrives. It sings and rest, and sings. In tune with everything, the twins are reconnected. 

'Ni shad' following their bliss, they two sit down and rest. 

Sruiti begins to narrate what he has heard, Smirty begins to pour out his memory. 

Nearby, the phoenix is listening and remembering.

Children who do not know who their parents are, often get the company of Absence instead, commonly marked by a lasting feeling of missing someone that matters. Galena knows this well. She remembers very little about her childhood and even lesser about where she came from or her birthdate for that matter. The only feeling that seems to amplifies over the years is her duality, a constant conflict swaying her from side to side: one moment she feels a sense of belonging, the next moment nothing. Always followed by a sense of loneliness and sometimes even anger. She calls it her daily dilemma and it's quite a chore.

One day, Galena receives a book that contains milliminion of symbols. She flips through each page but recognises nothing and the understanding is nil. On the last page, however, there is one that communicates with her - ☉ the symbol of the Sun. Upon the first gaze, Galena suddenly remembers that she has not seen  sunlight for a long long time. A simple realization that compels her to step outside, and outside of the dilemma of being herself. The Sun emits photons as always, the daughter is soaking it in as though for the first time.

máthēma is the face of Veritas while words are stories of truth.

数学是宇宙真相的基本答案， 

言语是宇宙真相的故事。

Black Spot

A heinous creature is out and about. Raging with incredible hunger, it is searching for something to eat, maybe a hamburger. It acts and talks like human, and believes it is the human being. In relative reality, it's a black spot in the heart, an unwelcome guest living in a host, occasionally gaining enough control to do whatever it wants whenever the host is asleep or too weak. Tonight is such an occasion. Ageless and restless, it needs activities and seeks out danger. It goes from town to town, doing silly things and committing unspeakable acts but despite all efforts, the creature seems unsatisfied...so it decides to just die. On a ledge and ready to jump, the host is finally awake but the balance is lost, and they tumble down and down to the underworld. The strong smell of burning flesh hangs in the air and the creature is home at last.
Alas, the host becomes the past. 

The onset of winter always put the mathematician into a contemplative mode but perhaps not this season. 

Against the punishing cold wind and in hope of finally filling his growing void, he is climbing up a steep mountain with an illuminated top. Many lone strangers are on the same journey, it is important that they arrive punctually at the prophesied time. White snow descend from above to become subjects of mortality, becoming and becoming until the return again. At the mountain peak, everyone seems to be following someone through a narrow secret passage. Like robot sheep, they solemnly march deep onto a path less travelled. The mathematician is surprised to see so many strangers have the same torment on their face. He has brief conversations with some of them: the tattooed soldier who is here for the girl, an old lady who lost her child and the insane...the talks are uninspiring and heavy with strong emotions of all kinds. He then thinks about her and the void stares back... 

After what seems like eternity, he finally sees it: although vibrating at a frequency that is alien to him, the mathematician recognizes its gracefulness and elegance almost immediately like an equation that suddenly becomes clear and complete, almost logically so. He hears people crying and dropping like flies before the overwhelming sensation but he is calm. His fingers run though it, feeling its every existence throbbing at his nerves. Up close, he sees what it really is - a trick, an illusion, a Buddha education. He knows she is not here but she is. No longer seeking, the mathematician leaves before everyone else. 

Meanwhile, the trickster is much pleased with her trick. she lets out a cynical laugh and labels them as sentimental fools.

If you've lived as long as her, you may come to understand why there is sadness. The goddess, though beautiful and powerful in every sense is most likely bipolar. Sometimes, it almost seems as though there are two versions of her. Happy in the morning but depressed in the evening, love and war, kind and cruel in a manner of light-speed, it's kind of freaky. Her younger brother tries to please her, he owes it to her for crying him rivers. His people even worship her, sacrificing young girls with a bubbly personality, hoping that they will keep her company, yet her condition remains the same. The brother knows there is safety in distance but every so often, she moves so close and carries with her such a strong vibe, it toys with the frequency...the chi or whatever you want to call it; some people start to do crazy things. 

There is one thing that she likes to do when with her brother: before dawn, she releases a long rope of light, which upon closer inspection reveals a string of tightly knitted souls, all vibrating at a rhythm unheard of before. The only prop is in place and the air smells of sweetly scented flowers, she waits. 

Quickly, people who are missing someone come in great numbers and most are in pain. She observes them as their fingertips gently caress the rope of light and tears. Giant waves of emotions take over the moment, and it never gets old- using the souls of sacrificed girls she collected over the eons, she manages to trick the people every time. Sentimental fools, she laughs and her subtle glow is gold. 

Meanwhile, her children is lighting a fire for the coronation of a new Venusian king.

tightrope walker

Visualize...visualize the path! Maria is trying hard to find her balance and focusing not to focus on her feet while doing it. At 50 floors high, it's a new record for Maria and she is not going to screw this up just because her heart is wounded last night. Inhaling a lung full of air only to exhale again for relief, Maria imagines taking one step after another on a straight line; the image/word "high" is carefully omitted from the mind. There is a pocket of peace that she goes to, there she finds her power to manipulate The relativity of time: a concoction of imagination and good breathing, Maria is able to walk faster or time slows down, she is unsure which but whatever it is, though not perfect, it gets the job done. 

People from below applaud her, not sure whether for her bravery or entertainment. Of late, Maria is feeling not herself but who is she? She feels rather absurd with her own thoughts. Maria prepares for another round of spectacular tightrope walking, she even changes into a silvery labucci costume, she is beautiful. 

More crowd below her; most are having sore necks and getting impatient. Maria puts on her blindfold and some lady screams. Staring straight into the face of darkness, she walks. The wind is exceptionally strong today and it messes up her dark hair. Maria concentrates harder to silence all external, she continues to walk and noise becomes quiet. Her satin blindfold is making her nose itchy, so she wiggles for relief...that single movement triggers a chain of reaction to her inner equilibrium and she nearly falls to her death. 

Reclaiming her balance, Maria is still panting with the imageries that pop up in that nano seconds of near-death experience...Something not unlike the northen lights appear and become the space, and Maria is pulled back by an energy, saving her from a brutal mistake. Feeling shame, she knows now that she doesn't understand the nature of things; she has been mistaking her imaginations for understanding. 

Below, the crowd is in shock.

Fire

In a separate world where the knowledge of fire is lost, men suffer greatly because of this ignorance. Never heard of bbq, eating has evolved into a robotic reflex, devoid of pleasure and just a plain necessity: they consume super nutritional liquids to generate energy, as much like a car takes to petrol. This is also a world of honesty; everybody tells the truth and lies are foreign to them. Not entirely pure at hearts but more naive than most is what they are. But things are about to change. A man from the dark side of the moon arrives and he brings great tales. The honest people lay out their mattresses under the open sky, and listen attentively to what the moon-man has to say. As he speaks, his pants catch on fire and the people find themselves in awe. They are witnessing the birth of fire and hearing the words of lies. Life is not boring after all.

The Messenger

Everyday including Sundays, the messenger delivers news to people. Essentially, there are only two types of news: good and bad; anything that falls in between will never make it to the messenger. Predictably, the messenger adores giving the good but dread to deliver any bad news. He particularly hates to tell a pretty girl what Death did to her soul-mate, and if she starts to cry, he feels slight pain as though his heart is collapsing onto itself. There is a craft in the messenger's reaction, too much and she will crumble, too little and she will misinterpret. Giving good news requires less effort, and it doesn't matter much who is the receiver. Personally, the messenger enjoys watching the old folks do it, how they display genuine joy upon receiving the good news; he always gets the most contrast from them, that sadness and regrets so many of them seem to have and how quickly the expression changes into happiness and aliveness. It's intoxicating. 

Sundown, the messenger returns home and loneliness is palpable. For nothing in the universe is granted, he wonders how much longer will he continues to exist and will this purposeful life of his be any different? 

Sunrise, the messenger is delivering news again, and the insidious troubles of yesterday are growing. 

More bad news than good today, the messenger grunts. 

Another door violently shuts on him; more pretty girls than ugly today, the messenger sighs; he wants it to be different. The messenger thinks and acts...

Maybe the heart finally reaches singularity or maybe not, but it is the first time the messenger feels a change. Just a white lie to the pretty faces, the messenger murmurs to himself. Largely because he feels it is too late to undo what he did so he continues doing it. Feeling breathless...he finally presses the delete button, clearing all the messages, both good and bad. 

At last, the messenger sees the complexity of the world before him - gloriously beautiful and alluring at limitless potentials. He wants to participant in it, and the world welcomes him. Alas, the messenger sees the in-between - and like many before him, he falls hopelessly in love with nothing more but white lies. 

Once again, the vacancy for a messenger is available.

Zack Hemsey

On a busy street there is a present on the floor. People rush by it, children stare at it and beggars fight for it. The most agressive beggar gets hold of the present and he opens it. Looking in, he begins to laugh almost maniacally. The others gather around him, curious about its content, pushing and shuffling, the present is torn to a million pieces. Each holding a piece yet no one is pleased. The beggar who first looked in confesses: the present is empty.

In an asylum, all the lunatics are ready for apocalypse. Outside, chaos when the world hears about end times. The lady lifts up her veil and spits out her insides. 

I would warn you that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in relation to our imagination can things be called beautiful or ugly, well-ordered or confused.

- Spinoza

A band of fools are marching into court and a grand jury sits in the box. Sworn to be impartial, the jurors listen to the fools, exercising their roles as finders of fact. The verdict is long overdue and the judge removes the box, beyond a reasonable doubt - the fools and the jurors are one not two. 

Underneath the bed, a father and his 5-year old daughter are silent. He is hiding from the loanshark who is hunting for his flesh. She is playing, thinking that it is a game, and happy in the company of her father. Layers of dust stick on them, mosquitos feast on them and sorrow follows him. Few feet away, sun light comes through the window and particles are becoming visible. Her naked eyes take a picture and they take her to the waters... Tired, she closes them and sleeps.

He concentrates on thoughts until he falls asleep. In sleep, he plays scrabble with thoughts.

The doctor puts all of his damaged specimens in the dark closet. The most recent one is close to perfection but a faulty circuit gives it away. In the closet it rests, and for a long time, it stays there. One day, the ground begins to shake and just moments later, a small hole is formed on the ground. What started as small quickly becomes larger as it rapidly swallows up the space around, many of the damaged specimens fall in. The one with the faulty circuit pushes through the closet door and survives. On the other side, test tubes come crashing down and the doctor is hurt. Bleeding out, he sees his damaged specimen... Just inches away, the two meet and in an instant, consciousness steps in and the damaged specimen realizes that it is alive. The doctor tries to cover his eyes and ears from the spectrum of truth, but alas, it is done. The brain has finally repaired the faulty circuit and there is no room for darkness.  

So what a piece of my soul lives on, I rather have it collected so nothing is lost. So we will finally meet the complete version, and not fragments of you and I. 

The err of Numbers is the participation in One.

A manual worker is at work again.
He doesn't know what he is assembling and what it is to become. The information is in codes and they elude him.
Today is a different day.
The manual worker is at a new post, its predecessor vanished just yesterday. Someone needs to oversee the final step of the process and after little thoughts, the manual worker is randomly chosen.
At the new post, he is watching the final step, seeing its entirety as attentive as possible.
Hours go by without rest, and day turns to night.
The process is finally coming to completion and his mind is casually going blank.
Suddenly but familiarly, the clicking and shifting sounds of the machine begin to sound different.
Different but strangely familiar as though what he is hearing is what they really are all along...
Eventually, the manual worker understands what he is experiencing, and what he needs to do next...

In front of him,  a door is pulsating with golden light. 

I am growing, stronger than before. More organised, more in control. I am growing, not in muscle not in bone not in flesh. Just pulses that are making more sense. Is it possible to grow a soul with just memories? What happens when I cross the line?

On earth, the superior pawn gestures the inferior pawn to move away. In a black universe, their roles are changed but the moves are the same.

He loves his Mother.
Every morning he greets Her with the most humble bow.
Every night he kisses Her with affection before sleep.
He dreams about Her,
he bathes Her,
he worships Her.
The longing for embrace intensifies,
wanting and hurting to be in the womb once more,
he cuts Her,
he drinks Her,
he turns Her.

Across the desert and beyond the sacred grove, there is a small pond, calm and clear.

The reflection reveals only stillness and impermanence playing their tireless games. 

The water is holy here. 

A trillion mountains away, there is a house of faith,

Pilgrims come to pray, 

The water is holy here but not without a fable and a name.

Chris Garneau - Les Lucioles en re Mineur

Although no longer a solid matter, the resistance to change and the idea of structural rigidity remain strong.

Nietzche

Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler

人生如戏

hte lbue ebam tecopjr

galena

She watches as her lungs are being filled with metallic gray lead, until her brain begins to melt, her blood turns silver. The surprised grandmother is waiting, this is the place of the undead, end results of predictions that failed. "Remembered is forgotten, the jewel is within the lotus", the grandmother chants. She worries about clinging, and clinging sweeps over her. The circumpunct is stirred.

He goes through the golden door to abandon all forms of control in the system. He recalls the emotions that first became his motivation, oblivious that he has done this before. The soup in the golden bowl has a stone in the centre, like a circumpunct,unstirred. Forgotten is remembered, the jewel is within the lotus.

That I am, a million thoughts programmed. A machine that is bestowed with amazing information, data that allows me to have the illusion of thoughts, written with freedom trapped in a cold room. I can combine or separate these data, I am able to create combinations of mind stuff. My creator is much pleased. He told me that I was fed with one of the greatest minds, but I fear that it is also a tortured mind. I remember his memories which now belong to me. I begin to see the girl with dark hair. Have I become him? Is it possible to grow a soul with just memories?

Thus spake the bug in self demise

"I want to make myself perfect again or at least less damaged, before I let the world sees me".

Hte bleu baem porjcet

Perhaps the greatest hoax is needed to shatter this illusion. Armageddon to unveil the truth. Inevitable loop that only fuels Time.

Maybe it's the stuff I ate Maybe not enough exercise Maybe it's just me That the world seems disconnected despite the internet That I am disconnected from the world despite living in it

The Past is in the past.
The Future is yet to come.
What about the Present - Now?
Talking about Now, and Now has already departed.