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‘Kiss Me Goodbye’ by Pierre Pagy, Izmir

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Walk into the room. Draped like a tissue, a worthless conversation hangs sorrowfully and you blankly stare into it. What’s going on here? A masked figure, perhaps I, stares into the edge of a crease. The crease of a map, a seemingly certain future. On its left, a situation; the start of a journey. It seeks self betterment, and the taming of the mind. In Turkish, the mind is referred to as ‘Zihin’ which is what yaps in your head when you’re alone. Follow the map, and wear the hat. Beware of the dragon, for which it is both the protagonist, and the creator of our ‘known’ universe. It’s fire is intense, and burns cautiously. At just the right temperature. Having taken this map, I dive, drive into the road. Be here now, now be here. Sitting, coming, going, over all, just floating by. Here comes the crash. Here appears the plague, creeping towards the centre of the picture. It is how the dragon sees the world. Micro and macro are presented to your viewing pleasures at once. A few minutes later, you’ll see my head roll over past the woods, into the desert. I’ll stare back and won’t say much. You see, I have changed a little. What I see through the lens of judgement presents you all I know. I hope you can tell me what that is. Words, on which I know nothing.

You see, I don’t know what I know, I only know forms and what intermingles throughout the picture plane. I’ll babble on until you turn away. I see a Queen, with the Big Bang next to it. A balanced character, the Creator of the universe. Taking on the aspects of the feminine, the Big Bang is nothing compared to it. A speck of dust on the picture plane. Knock on the glass, maybe she’ll wave back. Take a step back, this is all she’s left us. The eggs of a dragon you never hope to see.

There’s no suspense here. You already know the plot. Move to the next room, and look at what makes the plague.

Kiss Me Goodbye, over the illusion of free will; what drives all evil. Small details of icy roads, fossils in caves, and tire-marks over un-emotive plains. Crashing waves, Odin’s wrath. Next to them, a glimmer of hope; a branch, from the tree of life. 1, 2, 3; and you finally understand. The evolution of the dragon. From egg, to shooting star and finally, a fully formed dragon. Unmounted, the mind tries to escape, alas, it’s bound to the cycle of life. Further away, in a world free of positivist thought, the dragon enjoys its creation, tenderly mind-controlling the plague as a man struck by Hegel suffers from a migraine. The thought that starts off as a shadow on a cave, acquires its independence outside the cave. It is the real world, an interwoven space bound to the free will of the Queen. ‘Feeling’ the situation, having tamed it’s plague, an aspect of the Queen, watches over. It doesn’t need to see in order to be. It stares off into the distance as his self taps into your conscious. It’s like Odin and its ravens. On the floor, we see a head spamming itself in a wave of nonsensical chants. The legend has it that it’s cursed. It’s best to avoid its eyes, in the same way we avoid the mirror.

Yours sincerely,
Pierre Pagy

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