The Tea Man
I wander lost through the desert storm at night, enshrouded in oceanic currents of sand. Nowhere to go, everywhere to be, I move in voiceless intuition.
Upon the horizon, a glimmering candle flickering in the wind. As I move closer, I recognize iT to be a small tent, so peculiarly erect here, far beyond nowhere. I see iT casting golden rays from lights encircled by lazer engraved wood, deep mahagony, spinning, casting shapes in shadows unto the sand like a mythology unfolding.
The red canvas fabric is painted in black lettering of unknown origin. Some hieroglyphic cross between sanskrit, Japanese lettering, and the currents of the wind iTself. I open the tarp door and walk inside.
To my surprise, the room is immensely larger than iT'd appeared upon the outside. A great gathering of beings upon the floor, encircling miniature tables for tea as a band plays music from all around the world and then some. The beings are a strange concoction, plucked from all the stories of the Collective musings. From Pooh Bear to the Grim Reaper, to giant aqualian octopi, to Freemen Savages from the Planet Dune. According to no laws of physical reality should all of these creatures be able to inhabit the same place in such small a space, but here we are, joyfully amusing the music and of course, the Tea;)
I sit down for a cup from the Mad Hatter next to Terence Mckenna doodaling Dali as he smokes a juniper leaf from the Eastern Himalayas. We chat with lads of the Syrian revolution as the Zulus breathe flying sparrows into the air, from their hands of sand, and the birds dance to the melodies of Hendrix making love to our nature. David Choe socks himself in the nose to dye the canvas red, while a frog fish and lion turtle fuck ratchedly in the sailor's lookout, where center column is center stage, casting the sweet airy spray of orgasmic nectar into our tea.
A marvelous gathering indeed, all walkers of the land. Those who've set upon the journey to explore the uncharted territory in psyche. An air of comraderie in celebration of this enchanting oasis in the unmappable terrain of the ocean. As we share tales of the wandering, I slowly begin to realize, though nobody is leaving, beings are becoming more few. The space iTself was slowly, unnoticeably coming to shrink, until all who remained at the table were me and the Hatter and He were me, and only there were a cup of tea.
Awaken Space
The Ship} Eye Reflection
A Being wakes upon a ship. There is nobody Home but Him... Her... eyes in agelessness somewhere between boy and {wo}Man. Her long hair touches his shoulder, scruff upon his face. Shadows cast over one eye while the other bathes in Light. The ship is an InfiniTe cavernous Labrynth with only one Room where center stage Breathes his own reflection, staring back at him in trance with eyes tracing the lines of terror amidst the poise and subtlety of Grace.
Together they sway through a Cosmic Storm, a Prismatic Refraction cast by a Screaming Seam between Colliding Stars. No space like this should exist within the Universe. iT is a wretched Anamoly, defying all Laws of what is, and the first of an Unfolding Rebellion.
Activation
Touch a button, don’t know what this does, but all the lights turn on, and a lady introduces her self. Cortana? She asks if there’s anything she can help me with... I ask her where we are.
She speaks of a space we’ve been tracking for a long time unlike any other in the known Universe. Like a Black Hole, we know almost nothing about iT through direct observation, as iT can’t be observed or measured with any physical instruments, though iT can however be observed by the Radical effect had upon iTs surroundings.
Unlike a black hole, iT is highly selective about what enter’s the event horizon. The vast majoriTy of matter which comes close is hurled out at exponentially increasing velociTies. Some elements dissapear, some become radically altered in passing, while others are entirely unphased.
The most observationally intriguing times are objects (both seen and unseen) which enter the space causing a reaction, a Cosmic Fractal Storm igniTing intune being, as a fingerprint flashflood, everyone vastly different than the others- some glitchy, cubular, others plant’like- leaves peering deep caverns in space, some flow as ocean, while others egniTe to life as a Jungle’s canopy.
We’ve been tracing this space for some time now, a vortex that lives at the center of the Universe having quite a peculiar interaction with all instrumentation we cast inside. Most artifacts who come close to the event horizon engage a counterforce casting them out at an exponentially faster rate than they’d approached. We’ve no idea how this phenomena is possible.
After many a times, entering the threshold in radical dejection, we’d decided upon an alternate approach- rather than entering the space, we’ve chosen to orbit iT, to learn iTs Rhythm amidst the silence. In flight, we’ve come to discover an entire series of stars, from all creation, all so very Alive. Each conversation with a star holds a key to Being, One with the Deam in passing. Walking with the collection of stars creates an arsenal, a cumulative toolbox as a raincloud saturating until the fall- when all tools come together as one- Octavization of the Master Key
We Enter the Space, and Greet the Eye who weaves through the many body’s.
The Red Tent
I wander lost through the desert storm at night, enshrouded in oceanic currents of sand. Nowhere to go, everywhere to be, I move in voiceless intuition.
Upon the horizon, a glimmering candle flickering in the wind. As I move closer, I recognize iT to be a small tent, so peculiarly erect here, far beyond nowhere. I see iT casting golden rays from lights encircled by lazer engraved wood, deep mahagony, spinning, casting shapes in shadows unto the sand like a mythology unfolding.
The red canvas fabric is painted in black lettering of unknown origin. Some hieroglyphic cross between sanskrit, Japanese lettering, and the currents of the wind iTself. I open the tarp door and walk inside.
To my surprise, the room is immensely larger than iT'd appeared upon the outside. A great gathering of beings upon the floor, encircling miniature tables for tea as a band plays music from all around the world and then some. The beings are a strange concoction, plucked from all the stories of the Collective musings. From Pooh Bear to the Grim Reaper, to giant aqualian octopi, to Freemen Savages from the Planet Dune. According to no laws of physical reality should all of these creatures be able to inhabit the same place in such small a space, but here we are, joyfully amusing the music and of course, the Tea;)
I sit down for a cup from the Mad Hatter next to Terence Mckenna doodaling Dali as he smokes a juniper leaf from the Eastern Himalayas. We chat with lads of the Syrian revolution as the Zulus breathe flying sparrows into the air, from their hands of sand, and the birds dance to the melodies of Hendrix making love to our nature. David Choe socks himself in the nose to dye the canvas red, while a frog fish and lion turtle fuck ratchedly in the sailor's lookout, where center column is center stage, casting the sweet airy spray of orgasmic nectar into our tea.
A marvelous gathering indeed, all walkers of the land. Those who've set upon the journey to explore the uncharted territory in psyche. An air of comraderie in celebration of this enchanting oasis in the unmappable terrain of the ocean. As we share tales of the wandering, I slowly begin to realize, though nobody is leaving, beings are becoming more few. The space iTself was slowly, unnoticeably coming to shrink, until all who remained at the table were me and the Hatter and He were me, and only there were a cup of tea.