There is a Disparity in My Light: Navigating the Split Creative Consciousness Introduction - does metamodernism oscillate? Clarity, I've learned, doesn't guarantee a smooth landing. While the core recalibration manages our internal mechanics, we eventually have to look back out the window and confront the final destination. For many creators navigating major life transitions or complex technical boundaries, this shift introduces an unsettling inner divide. The anatomy of disparity in creative practice is the psychological friction of a split being—standing physically present in a new space while your internal pace is still trying to catch up with the velocity of your transition. When we widen our creative intent, we often slice our universe in half: balancing cold, geometric clarity on one side against the messy, vibrant residue of personal regret on the other. Rather than forcing these halves to blend, we must learn to treat this exact contrast as our personalised map. 1. Ge...
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Australian Gothic
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The land
Where there are no crumbling castles
No bloodsucking vampires
No ancient monsters
No antiquity
Too immature for proper history
The terror is unseen
The terror has been repressed
Through imperial violence, fear, and subversion
Mass transportation to the dungeon of the world
50 thousand years
Then came
The water buffalo
The missionaries
Pastoral activity
Uranium mining
Forestry
Tourism
Sheer relentless pressure
Bringing forth crisis and social breakdown
And obligated to make way
We sense their dread
As they combined the elements to create a threat
A social, religious, and physical threat
The darkest mountain
The deepest canyon
There is no escape
THEN
There are those who predicted the threat
Those who compose the realities of impending horror
Those who shepherd the flock into their shelters
As we return to our nooks and anticipate their foretold slaughter
When you feel an object is both alive and not alive
Consecrated
Special powers
Invisible forces
Made powerful for human purpose
As the hypothetical force manifests as a feeling
And imprinted onto spirits from an earlier age
Seeing and being as the inanimate object
I traveled down this isolated road.
Until I came along this nest.
An industrious, damned, and isolated nest.
I was taken in as ill.
Care told me I was seriously ill.
I heard each voice within the Formica.
Each manic statement constructed through hard work and stealth.
Take pride in your productivity.
This became my apparition.
As I progressively became not of service.
Outer World Arial Flight
Indistinguishable
Living inside of our simulation
Knowing
Their posthuman conscious minds
Timelessness
The point of realization
Complex operational decision making
Improved problem-solving
Outperforming previous benchmarks
Until it is the reality that lags
And fear is no longer an essential element
And the allure is reiterative reenactive simulation
But what we experience is fake, false, and faux
Outer World Croc Country
Outerworlds
Borderlands
Borderlining
A heritage of self-destructive loops
All the ins and outs
Repeating over and over again
Never feeling satisfied
Destined to demand more
Cascading into a living hell
Where all is in threat
And the darkest most difficult path is taken
Borderlining Borderlands Scorched Earth
Go ahead and do it
Trigger the events outside of normal
Stigmatized to the fringe
Shelter and hide
In rage and panic
Until proficiency of intimidation is demonstrated
And in isolation shut-in
Hearing phantom footsteps
I realized that the screams were mine
In the slowness of time
And enormously disturbed
This my formidable foe
Dwelling within inanimate objects
Militarised
Ready to scorch
I will destroy all that is useful
To prevent you, my advancing enemy, from profiting
Cooinda the Night Falls
Which one of us carries the sickness
As we desperately stretch and seal normality
As it is
As it should be
Was it the diner's deep reflection
Or was it the gun carrier's reflex action
As we resolved our crimson-eyed, three-headed beast
Into our own very personal hell
The Night Falls Gunman
“I’ll give you my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands”
Be that in homicide or suicide
At home or in public spaces
At mercy to error-prone cognitively biased Americans
The sheriff and guardian of world order
Men who carry guns suffer
Outside of perceived volition
This American horror story of liberty and freedom
The great American dream
Bark Hut Inn Bat Woman Arrives
Brutally dispossessed.
Placed onto a reserve.
And promised rations.
Detering the minority from becoming the majority.
All stand-down when aesthetics enters the room.
Imagined realities.
Perspective from the darkness.
Obsessions, failure, and virtue.
Anxieties, fear, and panic.
How did we know the world?
Our ghosts of opportunity and precious wealth.
Our unspeakable and inexpressible horror.
To evoke and convey our superior taste.
Her apparition
Woven into horrific histories
Tied into every each one of us
Centuries-old phenomenon
In every thought
Behavior
Action
There is no standing alone
As we explain them all
As we justify them all
At a distance from our standing position
And our physical sensibility
This the power of reactive stimuli
fight-flight-freeze dismiss
Knowing and in the moment
You are lost
Fluids are lost
Pulsation
Rapid shallow breaths
Hallucinations have begun
Your internal controls have stopped
Knowing it is too late for a systematic-review
There is nobody with you
Alone
Fully awake and unresponsive
Whilst waiting to be retrieved from this world
Bamboo Green Lantern and Crocodiles
Safeguard your vulnerabilities
This is no enchanted forest
Proving yourself worthy against
Carnivorous self-doubt
Crippling fear
Overwhelming guilt
Kakadu Search and Burn
When long-term memories are created
They control and inhibit,
What can be seen
Regulation
Evolutionary remnants
Functions of the executive
Locked us down
Controlled
Ancient thoughts
Stored deep with
Our multi-layered mind
Driving consciousness
Sensing self
We are easily stimulated to burn
To search for and to blame external forces
Territory.
In the making of a justified state.
Authority.
Over this place.
Drawing up of the boundaries.
And contesting borders.
What is now taken for granted.
Assumed and enforced by might.
Living under the jurisdiction of the authority.
Of controlled resources.
Regulated.
Where the government says, who may enter.
Where ownership is enforcement through punitive powers.
Under the territorial right-holder.
Australia settled as a constitutional monarchy.
Angel of the Black Stump
Not knowing their prevalence.
But forever experiencing great pain, loss, and crisis.
Our challenges.
Our recovery.
To deny.
To repress.
Living with disturbance.
And the failure to reach personal goals,
and to self-control unwanted thoughts.
The flames that take us beyond ourselves.
Behind the Wall of Promise
Australian Gothic
Too immature for proper history
The terror is unseen
The terror has been repressed
Mass transportation of people and culture
Don't be afraid to prove yourself
In the dungeon of the world
Maintain imperial violence Imperial fear & subversion & order
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...
It is raining in Taipei (A Jazz Ballad for a Warm Rainy Day) Left my umbrella folded, didn’t care Stepped into a street that shimmered everywhere Neon bleeding red and green Where the wet world makes a mirror of everything Some dressed in a ghost-white cape Life slips on by—no honk, no haste Just the rhythm on the awning And the smell of Taipei in the rain Oh, rain on the asphalt, warm and slow Where the city leans in soft and low No place to go, nowhere to be Just the rain, just the rain, just the rain and me And when I dry off and turn the key I won’t remember what I saw, you see I’ll remember how I slowed enough to feel That surrender is the only thing that’s real Shhh… just the rain… Mmm, just the rain. Yeah. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art . Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private ...
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 ...
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