Chiaroscuro Reveries

In the tapestry of my existence, the hue I favor above all is the enigmatic blue—a color that embodies both the essence of desire and the void of nothingness. My very name resonates with the promise of bliss, an aspiration I hold dear. Likewise, my chosen gemstone, a beacon of hope, stands as a testament to my convictions. Yet, who truly comprehends the depth of these pronouncements?

I find a profound solace in the scent of the pristine earth, mingling with the cosmic harmony during the union of the firmament and the virgin land. Rain descends, imbuing her with vitality, breathing life into her very core. The fragrance of her form and the symphony of her libidinal calls resonate within me—a celebration of sensuality that intertwines with spirituality.

Am I confined by the constraints of time and space? It seems I have encountered myself on numerous occasions, though these reunions often appear futile. I have taken on the role of Hamlet's puppeteer, manipulating his narrative to suit my own purpose, driving him to the brink of madness. Gertrude, once a queen, now emerges as a nymph in the realm of my imagination. My intentions were to urge Hamlet towards the forbidden realm of incestuous desires, culminating in matricidal tragedy—a reimagining of their inherent nature.

Yet, it is not Hamlet alone who occupies the stage of my creative orchestrations. Porphyria's love, a presence both beguiling and beguiled, captivates my musings. His justifications, eloquent and entrancing, stand as tributes to the beauty of his devoted service. In the crescendo of my narrative, Hamlet succumbs to self-inflicted demise. He carries his mother's half-lifeless form and plummets into the depths of a lake, guided by Ophelia. Here, at the crossroads of reality and dreams, sanity and insanity, they traverse a threshold that leads to a realm where the boundaries between the two are fluid, uncharted, and full of enigma.

Comments

The Awkward Silence of the Enchanting Chasm

“Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.” Have I forgotten you? I don't like the way you faded into oblivion. Your glorious absence marveled at the absurdities of my life. Even the last remnants of your weird sight and smile create a whirlpool of the past and a hurricane of madness deep in the abyss of my conscience. Everywhere, in every form and matter, I see your dust. I teach myself to forget you and move ahead. The chaos of your story in mine is the absence of your existence in time-space. I weave each and every layer of your story so that I can tell my son, one day, how I survived on my own. I wonder whether it was your light or the shadow I painted, mostly in Prussian blue. They will hear the echoes of the deep enchanting chasm on my chest. I keep it echoing on my chest, so that I might tell my son on the shores of infinity that I had a story to tell.

Knowing

I know this: I am also a repetition. A continuation of forces older than my name, patterns that moved through generations and found their way into me. I do not carry them as burdens alone; I carry them as proofs. What has been tried before me did not end—it arrived. And I stand where it converges. I have never been lost—only moving through complexity. I have questioned, delayed, circled, cried but never diminished. Even when direction dissolved, something steadier than certainty kept me upright. What others call confusion was often preparation. What felt like stillness was alignment in motion. I was not failing to become; I was becoming without spectacle. There were moments when desire thinned, when the world stopped asking for urgency. Not emptiness—clarity. Noise fell away. False appetites dissolved. What remained was gravity, and gravity always tells the truth. I learned then that not everything needs to excite in order to matter. And so the world narrowed—not into loss, but into gr...

Ruth: The Epilogue

"But..." I was being dragged by the ebb of time into the abyss. On the shores, beneath the mountains, blue waters lulled my feet. I was looking at the completion of my life as she was calling me to join the tides. The gravity of the past pulled me into the quantum architecture of multiple dimensions of life. I fell into the realms where I tricked my past to stay engaged. My present is an analogy of my past. The energy I created, then, in the quantum architecture transformed into an autonomous being of intelligence. I was unable to stop it from growing into a being. They said, "Quantum corresponds to each other and can transfer information to each other, no matter of space or time." Her lips quivered, and her feelings clouded her mind as she appeared like a glitch in time. Her words echoed through the ages, " We should remain ignorant of each other like we used to be in the past. I will pretend that I never knew you." P.S: Spenser read from his book, ...

The Ballads of Gravity

Search This Blog