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