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My Psychological Landscape: A Speculative Ecology of the Stratosphere

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  Image to be added - watch this space My Psychological Landscape: A Speculative Ecology of the Stratosphere Introduction  What is Terrestrial Control? What is Stratospheric Flow? Image to be added - watch this space The transition from the terrestrial to the atmospheric is rarely just a matter of mechanics; it is a profound undoing of the architectural ego. We board our vessels encased in the comforting math of engineering, believing we are merely shifting a physical mass from one geographical coordinate to another. But at a certain altitude, the boundary between the internal theatre of the mind and the external expanse of the world begins to fray. As the metal hull and the quiet murmurs of the cabin dissolve, I am no longer just travelling through the sky; I am becoming a part of it. Stepping directly into the stratosphere, the heavy, churning clouds of deep teals and bruised indigos cease to be merely a reflection of my psychological landscape—they reveal the fluid, boundle...

The Toxic Weight of Waiting

 

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 figure of indigo and shadow. There is no escape through movement, only through endurance. To breathe here is to inhale uncertainty. The stinging emerald mist fills her lungs until the weight of waiting becomes the only thing she knows.

Submission is no longer a choice; it is the only posture left. She remains still, waiting for the toxic clouds to settle or for the figure above to finally speak its name.








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

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This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.


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