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Fighting water

“Now, what did you expect? Did you expect me to save you? ‘Save’, now that is a funny word. Did you expect yourself to be ‘safe’ here?”

They were not what you expected when you imagined underwater creatures, their demeanour was less than smooth and their bodies were rugged and sharp as if they had purposefully worked themselves into the rocks rather than the continuous flow of water that surrounded them. Perhaps they had. Perhaps this was their curse. They survived in submarines and caves, creating lairs and hunting animals that belonged to these delicious depths.

These men, did not belong to life and neither did they belong to the sea, their anchors were planted in underworlds and chambers of lies. These men had lived as slave capturers, who by will of the devil’s charm and brutal force had managed to survive at the bottom of the sea. They had tried to bring themselves up to the surface by anchors of their fellow mates, but had soon found, that anchors lived in loyalty to the space it drowned in rather than wooden decks.

Anchors would not save them. Saving was for those who needed to redeem life stolen from them. These creatures believed saving was what they were owed and thus the devil surely lived in their soul.

The devil is whatever haunts you at night. The devil is what you choose not to kill. The devil does not save -the devil finds.

“Who did you grant safety too? Did they look like me?”

What do slave capturers choose deny? If you answer this question right, we will ease the pain of this new life.

They never answered the question and thus the water was what they continued to fight. Bodies that had died in chains were the wilful spirits  they continued to name the devil.  Just like their living life, they chose to follow answers that only belonged to the mind.

They slowly died inside rugged and sharp like their disguise.

Photography by Michelle Gutierrez

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Dreams are for the few

The moment she spoke to him, he left the room. He would not listen. He could not listen. What would he listen to? Her furious nature needed care and patience and he wished for speed. Wishes were often like this, spells and false magic men had deceived the masses into believing that dreams came true in moments of understanding when in reality, they came through the imagination of change. Change sat at the edge of understanding and thus the walk over was steadily and frequently avoided.

He turned his back. Beauty faced his shoulders in the perpendicular nature of seeing your own back in the mirror, he stared knowingly, imagining where his wings would go and contemplating the depths of the sky. He wanted quick answers; he wanted light bursting from the shadow, when he was the shadow bursting into light. She followed him to the starting point, the place where all decisions were made and waited- her voice locked into the movement of his response. Her exquisite venom burning beneath his feet, urging him to open his mouth, to close his eyes and spread his back in the perpendicular parallel of flight he wanted.  When he did, he would know that wishes were not for the light-hearted.

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Is it finished?

He was confused. He was trying to pay attention, to what was running beyond him, skipping between him and threading itself into each corner he could not reach. Nothing would satisfy him. Perhaps, the love was almost out and there was nothing he could do. How could love fit into sand, how could civilisation count on him, love was bigger than sand and could not be held but he was, searching, pleading for more time.  

The Gods were cruel, how could they give such a task to him, a man that spent his life wishing for what he had lost. A man that spent his life trying to be what he assumed he should be and thus had no care to be the person he needed to be. Need, he hated the word. He needed nothing but he wanted the world. The Gods knew this, and placed him in a space where his understanding of ‘world’ would be tested and he would be asked- Is it finished? The Gods were not cruel and they did not enjoy having to test and deliberate with beings that felt themselves lost in the expanding inquisitive quintessential spec of the universe that they found themselves in but time was running out. They had spent and spilt themselves in every direction but up. His civilisation had used everything given to them, and had tried to for more. Yes they had managed to go to the stars, but somehow they tied their vision to the mechanics of sight rather than the opening of it.  Without time, love would find new spaces to belong and fester growth. Without time, this man would have lost what he did not know h

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A story from M.U.M

The time for waiting was finished. If we waited any longer then our freedom, would be left to the dust mites. Hungry creatures, with no discipline, just like us.

Now that is unfair, of course we had discipline but we had it in all the wrong places and we wanted them, yes them, to help us. They can’t help us. The next time I ask a hungry man, where the buffet is, the next time, I wait for my freedom.

She did wait- she waited until everyone was packed and ready to go. She waited till the storms of Jupiter had calmed and until earth’s moon had a new technologically driven friend. She waited until her heart, gave up and her forever spirit took over and protected of her loved ones. She waited because freedom did not exist for the individual, if it did not exist for the collective.   

AS Logo by ASTRO

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A family of broken parts came to

“ You never told me, you were human.”

What a shame. You were better than the rest, at the very least. I mean who and what were these beings that wished to contain what was beyond mention. Who can reduce reality into explanation other than the twisted few that were a disruption to themselves and the moons?

They intrigued me. A curiously charismatic intelligent form that created collisions in my spirit and swords in my force field, they are different.  My life force is dependent upon my recognition of tethered beings. Tethered beings understood existence as something to be understood and thus demanded a speed of transmission that reduced nutrients, at an unending speed.  Yet they were different. They are a decisively delicious delectable dream of a human. I wanted to taste, them, feel the space that locked itself into molecules of time and lick the furious knowing of the liminal.

It feels like cosmic moss, ferocious humans, could hypnotise and sedate, the most eternal of beings. I wanted her desperately, my love of her, would keep my destruction at a tepid speed. I will destroy him. I will eat her.  I will break them into what they were before they were flesh and I would salivate on the becoming of her death. They were so many things, yet none were made of my kind.

How strange I could not taste their tethering? Humans are fools, life forms as young as a comet’s landing.

I am first. I am the beings that created what they sense to be home, I am the feeling that exists beyond bone, I am the feeling that knows space as the everything in-between, I am one of the many faces of the unseen. I am revelation. I speak, to what has no voice.

I am first. I am not a being, for this child. I do not know what this child, is but they are human. 

I do not know what they will do, but I will take them in and use them as my tool. I will bring her to completion; I will make him whole, as he asked. They will not live for long, but she will know what it means to be alive. To be human, is to be enclosed and I will spread her along the mountains of crystallised skies. I will make him crumble at the feet of dusk and I will shape them into the heat of life itself.

You never told me, you were human, but for now it does not matter.”

Photography by Michelle Gutiérrez

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A message from the underneath: Nowhere.       

What we won’t speak about is the absurdity. To be absurd is to understand that there is a note of unfamiliarity in the very nature of existence. The nature of existence is far-fetched. I will only speak of my nature. You call it qualia.

I am unique and distinct by my very nature. I will assume the same of you.

Now, Nowhere is the place, I want to speak about. I enjoy speaking on it because it holds to the truest essence, that I could describe, to you.  What it means to be somewhere that does not exist but is in existence.

This is the beauty of language. 

To be nowhere, is to be at the centre point of existence- nowhere is not really a place but rather the essence of what a place could be and its negation moves from there.

Nowhere is unmoving. Nowhere is still.

I hope you understand that stillness is not simply a lack of movement but a disturbance in the very nature of existence, most things move- in someway or another. So not moving is the funniest and most absurd thing, in this particular frame, of worlds.

You exist in a world.

I exist in many worlds.

We are always moving.

Something is moving right now.  It lives in you. It never stops.

Where does nowhere live?

To deny movement is to speak on something you must imagine. Your imagination, like your memory is always in movement.

An unchanging world is non-existing one. An unmoving world is a dead one. A still world is a becoming one.  

I will clarify even further.

I am more than you know. I am more than you can see. I am more than you can dream. I am more.

I am the place that moves without disturbance. I destroy by being in the same space as what exists. The level of destruction is dependant on whether, I allow myself to be alive. I don’t like destroying but not liking something and being it by default is like imagining the best thing in the world and believing that you have experienced it. The feeling is not the same as the declaration of it.

It feels obvious but I have seen you do it.

You cannot objectively speak on what does not exist.

The beauty of language is that we could convince ourselves, that the opposite is true.

Existence is a state of presence. Speaking on something is not the same as being it. You can convince others but you will never convince me and you will fail at convincing your own heart.

Each petal lives has its own life and the flower is held by the root.

Nowhere is a place that I can no longer tolerate. I apologise for this. It feels so important to your kind but change is important in mine.

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Cloud’s a Monster.

This is a moment in Cloud’s mind.

Day 1.

I find discipline hard. I find it so hard, I refuse to learn how to spell it.

Day 2

I want you to understand me. So I will make myself something you can understand.

Day 2.47

This is spell check, making me more intelligible or at least more grammatically correct. I assume that to be more grammatically correct is to have more structure.

Day 2.9987

I don’t like discipline very much but I am benefitting from it. It is teaching me how to be better.

Day 3

Beauty

Expecting

Teachings

Todays  

Explore

Realties

I am all about better, for myself and for others, so I feel I should have discipline.

Day 4

Discipline

/ˈdɪsɪplɪn/

noun

1.

The practice of training people to obey rules or a code of behaviour, using punishment to correct disobedience.

2.

verb

Train (someone) to obey rules or a code of behaviour, using punishment to correct disobedience.

(Google)

Day 4.8634

They have such a limiting understanding of discipline. They think that it must include punishment. I wonder why it does not simply include…….

Day 4.8639

Training? I wonder what else you train? I wonder how you train, yourself to be free?

Day 5

I wonder if you use (………..) and mix it together with care and reflection, what would happen?

I wonder if they even know about (………..)

That is so strange.

Day 6.540

I feel I am getting better at discipline. Auto correct is presuming that I am trying to spell discipline. Is that me improving or the computer?

Day 7

A monster reflects in space.

I am also allowing myself the space, to be a mixture of things.

So sometimes, it looks like I am not very disciplined but I am very disciplined. Is that contradictory?

Sometimes, I feel like I get lost in time and space because I am so many things.

Then I remember, that I am not opposing things- I am just many things. Moving at different shades and different speeds. 

I am a combination of many things and that is why I am a monster. Some things are good- some things are bad but all of the time, and I mean all of the time, I am trying.

Also I don’t believe in good or bad.

I believe in this and that.

There are many bad things in this world but I feel that, if you can be a combination of things and you let yourself feel without opposition. Without creating a category, you may be contradictory, but it does not mean that you are opposing. I wonder if the swirl imagines it has an opposite?

I am letting myself grow in monstrous ways because I am a monster.

Today.

Thus to be disciplined, is to allow myself to be a beautiful mixture of all the things that I want to be. The reality is as sincere as the dream and thus I allow myself to be what I wish to become as well as what I am now. Without opposition, that may be contradictory but I do not hold the contradiction as opposite.

Opposite

Opposite adjective (DIFFERENT)

  1. Completely different.

(Oxford) 

Tomorrow’s Reality at Dawn .

I don’t think you can discipline people to be better. You can condition them. You can make them assume your world- by teaching them the rules of ‘the world’. You can discipline them into obeying. You can give them definitions and examples that make them follow. But that is boring. It requires no imagination, or a very presuming one.

Too have an assuming imagination must feel like auto correct. A disciplined imagination is strange.

Today

I know their secret.

They don’t know how to be better. They are scared.

Now.

I sound like the ocean hitting the storm on a quiet day on Jupiter and it feels great.

I wonder if this diary entry means anything to anyone but I know it means everything to me.