Most recent post

I am sealed in this capsule

-
Image
  I am sealed in this capsule The transition from the static concrete of that waiting room to the pressurised cabin of this jetliner changes the entire physics of my wait. I’m no longer pacing floors or slouching into plastic seats; I've been sealed inside a capsule, and soon to be hurtling through the sky toward China. Now that I'm finally buckled in, my restlessness hasn't disappeared, but at least I’ll soon gain altitude. I look around and can see exactly how this emotional shift plays out in other lives. There is an initial sense of order and quiet relief. I see the neat rows of seats, the soft symmetry of the aisle, and the steady, reassuring presence of the flight attendant, offering the illusion of control. The ceiling washes into soft, atmospheric blues and teals. I imagine the sky outside. I can feel the collective breath of a hundred passengers all transitioning into the same forced pause. For a moment, my world feels structured, clean, and neatly aligned. I know ...
Post a Comment

Celeste in Contemplation

-

How to feel absolutely renewed
When transforming from regeneration
Methodically and slowly as it goes
From what happened to a continuous re-event
In this box of instantaneous events
Where past and present compete
Wrapped by a transparent membrane
All is safe

From those who say
You are altered
You look different
Your appearance and personality has changed

So begins the lying to self
Of moral injury
Ethical transgressions
And traumatized
Pounding flashbacks
Lost of trust
And finally resting in a residue of failure





Popular posts from this blog

The Toxic Weight of Waiting

-
Image
  The Toxic Weight of Waiting The atmosphere has thickened. What was once a room defined by walls and chairs has dissolved into a toxic haze, an environmental manifestation of a mind under siege.  She no longer sits; she kneels, anchored to the floor by an invisible gravity. Above her, the "toxic air" takes shape as a looming, jagged shadow infused with high-velocity greens and burning volcanic reds. It feels less like smoke and more like a predator, a towering silhouette of anxiety that has finally outgrown the space. The colours vibrate with a sickly, chemical heat, turning the very oxygen into something thick and sharp. In this room, the silence has become deafeningly loud. The fractured light from the previous moment has bled together, creating a suffocating shroud that blurs the line between the physical world and an internal fever dream. The momentum hasn't just stalled; it has been swallowed. She has diminished, huddled in the eye of this psychic storm, a solitary ...
Read more

Waiting for inspiration

-
Image
Waiting for inspiration The air in a waiting room carries a specific kind of weight, a density that seems to swallow sound. For centuries, artists have tried to capture this heavy, invisible presence. I think of Honoré Daumier , who portrayed the slumped, weary resignation of third-class travellers. He understood that waiting wasn't just sitting; it was an endurance sport. I see that same heavy air, but my era is electrified. The figure on the left isn't just sitting; they are anchored against a storm of data. Their head is buried in their hands, face half-hidden as if they're trying to crawl inside their own mind to escape the silence. The thick, aggressive slashes of orange and gold overhead resemble a visual scream, capturing that internal chaos where your thoughts race at a hundred miles an hour while your body is stuck in a plastic chair. The green glow on their skin adds a cold, modern tension, making the whole scene feel like a pulse vibrating beneath a still surface...
Read more

The Ethereal Ascent

-
Image
  The Ethereal Ascent The air in the room is violently still, creating a heavy pressure. She has long stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here is not a sequence but a weight. The waiting room has fractured; the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum flooring splinters into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream. High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly blues vibrate as if hardened walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege, a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She looks out, as if just awakened, and does the only thing left to recollect. She breathes. She waits. She waits for the shards to align once more. Be Creative and Innovative wit...
Read more