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Godliness in Stone

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  Scene 1 It smells like… time down here. Not just damp earth or rot, but something older. A primal scent that’s been waiting in the dark for a millennium. I’m recording this at the bottom of the scar somewhere in the anomaly. In my mind, it's called the Necropolis Gully . My helmet is trying to map it—casting these sterile, digital grids over the moss and the stone—but the data doesn’t make sense. It’s glitching. It’s shuddering against the reality of this place. I don't know why I'm here, looking at ruins. Just... debris. But in the ruins, I found the ghosts of a future that never happened. I was walking over shards of polymerised memories . This was once a city.  It was meant to be the heart of a new world that... simply stopped. It wasn't an engineering failure. It was a failure of existence. Holding that slate, I felt this... weight. The grief of the architect. The "wounds of unbuilt dreams." I realised then that this isn't a graveyard for people. It’...
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Ubud It happens in this time.

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It happens in this time.

Within all of this hassell and bustle, there is peace to be found.
It matters that our approach of founding is addressed.
If we don't walk so fast,  if our minds are rested.
We will have found this, where and whenever we intend understanding.
Time were ritual is small,  place where space is eternal.
There is a pattern to making sense.
Personalised and collective.


Forget the calling of the influential and competitive.
Forget the combatants.
Attempt to day dream.
Fall over the drawn line.
Re-position and let each door open wide.
So much to see in so many small spaces.
A universe in each unearthed cavity.



There are many gods who nonsensically watch us.
All whispering whilst we restrictively rant.
They have privileged loss.
They have fallen from superiority to obscurity.
Their stories are silent whilst we are glorious in distraction.
Fall with them, dream with them,  be at mind with them.



Within each fall, they linger and mutate on.
Through each season, timeless and enduring.
Cyclic they remain unnoticed.
They want to be noticed,  and we can learn from their shimmer.
Their stains against time.
It is possible to see them dance and weave through our space.
Ever-slowly, ever-changing and ever-in-ness.
It happens in this time.
Never in or when convenient.
Busy being,  erodes our capability to make sense.




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