i am afraid of the future. Events, deeds, things are reaching out their hand, but I am avoiding their gaze. Finally, I shake their hand with my back to them, and I have to bend like an old twisted tree. At the same time, the fear of the future is euphoric in a way. As if I were launching myself into elusiveness, unpronounceability. Surrendering means sweet self-destruction. Thus, leaving somewhere is always also coming somewhere else.
I follow arrows. Lamps are shining but nothing else. I can hear soft rumbling but nothing else. The hallway is similar to empty streets at dawn. I am entering a hazy room that shines with pulsing blue light. It is empty, but I can feel a certain kind of emergence.
there is nowhere to sit, but I do not want to stand. Slowly, I walk in concentric circles, and I scan the room with my eyes. Sometimes I look at my hands fluorescing with soft grain. Grain appears on the surrounding walls as well. As if it had its consciousness, its delicate veining pulsing with energy, which I imagine to be electric-like and causing the air to quiver gently. It pulsates like my neuron fibers with which I sometimes talk in my dreams. They create new constellations within fractions of seconds as they react to impulses in an action-reaction dynamic.
there is something in the air, expectation; I am striding restlessly while sitting in the shadow of my inner rhizome at the same time. I feel unanchored; emotions have no gravity. I long for a starting point, for the center of a cobweb, woven by my consciousness.
my life is consistent, by which I mean that individual presents alternate chronologically with other presents. No blackouts, hallucinations, spatiotemporal jumps. Everything is based on the natural laws of physics. Nevertheless, it seems to me, and the veined scenes covering all the surrounding walls convince me that the overall direction is focused, spiraled, and encases itself. Similarly, like shapes, the events of my life are sucked into each other in specific repetitive patterns; I feel balance that somehow smolders with unrest. This propensity to focused and unified interest is also often volatile and ambivalent. I am a movement that consumes itself.
when I was sixteen, I cried in front of statues standing in a gothic church in central Prague. I do not know why. Suddenly, I felt a tension in my chest, which was dragging me away as if I were pulled by the thick stickiness of the world around.
That started a period of coping with the general and bizarre predetermination of the world as a whole. Since then, I have understood that it is not possible to distinguish between happiness and sorrow in a certain depth of human emotionality. They blend into one. In the same way, there is no single future. There are only energy-soaked potentials of our possible directions. Stacks of its data will eventually intertwine themselves into one solid and convincing reality.
once again, I am searching for my center. The search is full of diversion, as if the boundaries between what is good and evil, true and false, were blurred. The limits of terms are developing on several thriving levels simultaneously, just like sprouting fractals. I close my eyes, and I watch conscious veining at the bottom of my eyelids, drawing odd symbols of a language that I encounter for the first time. I suspect a kind of intelligent metagnomy. I understand nothing, but it changes me significantly. The language says nothing, but there is no silence.
circles are traveled monotonies. They create a loop inconspicuously.
Monotony becomes a meditative contemplation. I can see the y axis and the x-axis, but I cannot find the z-axis. I am sliding on the surface.
i feel as if a set of video cameras was following me, but I am not sure if they are looking on the outside or inside me. Maybe there is no difference. It is a state of unification and ambivalence at the same time. One seems impossible without the other. This experience must be universal; we all must undergo them, only the consequences, emotions, and actions resulting from it are different. We are devoured by the world structure like tiny flies by a cobweb.
the veining, initially only in grouped swarms, has started anthropomorphizing here and there. Mouth, limbs, mimicry. I have noticed a long face on the wall, which seemed to have some gel inside instead of a hard skull with jaws. It seems to be some kind of metamorphosis, but I can recognize neither the original nor the new state of that face. As if it was full of spiritual slime. When I walk around, we both unfold like an extremely slowed-down animated movie.
I smell smoke, the world outside is burnt, the breaking point zero is coming, and I need to choose whether it is the beginning or the end. I admit the existence of dread, mysticism, inter-species communication, multidimensional realities, and introspective hallucinations. They fascinate and frighten me at the same time.
after a bit of hesitation, I leave the room. Or I stay at the same spot, and the outside is coming towards me. I do not know, but I am not afraid anymore. The lamps are off, and people are walking by, convinced of the platitude of the surrounding world.
It started to drizzle.