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Waiting for Azrael

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  Waiting for Azrael The air in the room doesn't move; it simply presses. She has long since stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here isn't a sequence, but a weight. The waiting room has fractured, the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum tiling splintering into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream . High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly yellow vibrate against the walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. She pulls her legs inward and forms a tight knot, dressed in indigo and bruised purple. She tries to find a purpose in her world that refuses to stand still. 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 buries her face, lets ...

Gotta Assassinate Dungeon

 

The Room is a Dungeon

I woke up to the punishment of cramping cold. My bed is dirty, and I have been feasted on by pests and rodents. Realizing my nakedness and no blanket to cover up, I feel vulnerable. My immediate thought is: who has captured me? 


I quickly scan the room. No window. No dunny. No nothing. Just a solitary light, behind its wire cage, simultaneously emitting and trapping a spectrum of transformative light.



I try to account for my lost time. Without any means of measurement, I must endure until an opportunity presents itself. This is a temporal experience. 



I focus on apprehending my fears as a single event in time. I must trust my perceptions to escape.



The roof and walls are cold.  I experience the architect’s subliminal message. I know his place. It is I who dwell inside of his fear. What shall be done must be done. This revolving state cannot withstand my driving force.



When my rotation is complete, four lives will enter into my cell of death. The medieval studded door is the weakness of this fortress. This door will open. I will my escape.



This Fortress 
This Door
This Weakness



My mind is somewhere between fight and flight, as I search into the horizon for my future self. 



I’m standing within a grid, a translucence matrix of blood-red that alters with every iteration of thought. Each stain tells a story of pain and torture. I know I must fight then flee, and my darkness within is the path I must take.


Transverse Fight then Flight

I am contained within this inverted panopticon. My consciousness is hidden behind a societal parable. For centuries I have been receptively owned. Now casted into an actual person I must respond. I am not the sacrifice. I am the weapon. The architect has left subliminal messages. They are imprinted into the wall. They are ineligible to the literal. I just know. My only knowledge is to fight then flight and call on the darkness of within to escape this gridlock.


Transverse Fight then Flight video


Transverse Wakes up in a Cage



Wake up in a cage
Apprehend your fear
Unshackle your memory










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