It’s always eerie to be alone. The constant feeling of someone else’s presence keeps me from relaxing. Everyone pulls at me, needs something from me. In these moments, I try to catch my fears by the tail—it helps, at least a little.

Loneliness is something I think about often, sometimes to the extreme. I found myself in a dark, square-shaped room with sliding doors, though I couldn’t see them. The room exists in the future. Music plays in the background, everything is blurred like paint. I feel utterly alone, engulfed by this sensation. It surrounds and penetrates me. Strangely, there are no tears, but I know I’m crying. I realize no one will come, that even in a crowd, I’ll always be alone. It feels inevitable.

Suddenly, the doors open, and an extraordinary woman appears. I’ve seen her before but can’t place where. She asks:

• What did you want?
• Did I call you?
• Yes, you knocked, and I opened the door.
• But I didn’t knock…

A flash of realization—I’m having a glitch. I must have knocked, but I don’t remember. I trust her. It’s strange because I feel like some part of me is acting independently, without me knowing. And I like it. It’s dangerous, but it’s exhilarating. Loneliness no longer feels as deep as this realization.

But I wonder, who is it inside me?

Loud love’s hitting the membranes of feelings
we are facts of abnormality laying on top of each other
you are holding the bottom
I guess I know how to be myself now
but twitching hearts with a smile are inside of me
like the birds on the bottom

loud love’s hitting the membranes of feelings
we are facts of abnormality lying on top of each other
you are holding the bottom
I guess I know how to be myself now
but twitching hearts with a smile are inside of me insanity

what have you done with my loud nude loneliness?
what have you done with my loud empty sadness?

she told me she wanted to sing with a mixture of feelings
she told me she wanted to live with a mixture of feelings

she told me she wanted to leave with a mixture of feelings
what have you done?
where is she now?

loud love’s hitting the membranes of feelings
we are the facts of abnormality laying on top of each other
launching the palms of life directly to the door of your heart under your shirt just for letting in despair, calm will come

what have you done with my loud nude loneliness?
what have you done with my loud empty sadness?

she told me she wanted to sing with a mixture of feelings
she told me she wanted to live with a mixture of feelings
she told me she wanted to leave with a mixture of feelings

what have you done?
where is she now?

When the urge to smash the screen arises, driven by the hollow ache for something greater—something just out of reach—it feels as though one decisive motion might tear the fabric of reality. Do others sense these cracks in their own worlds?

And then there was the doll. Its black hair framed wide, curious eyes that seemed to hold secrets. For reasons I still don’t understand, I wanted to uncover what lay beneath its delicate surface. My hands acted almost on their own, tracing the contours of its face. In my mind, the doll wasn’t just an object—it was a mirror, reflecting something I couldn’t quite grasp.

Suddenly, I saw time itself unraveling. The doll became rigid, its soft edges fading into something unyielding, almost otherworldly. I tried to piece it back together, to restore its essence, but my efforts felt futile. So, I reached for the thread of time and rewound it. The moment disappeared as though it had never existed, but the memory stayed—a quiet echo in my mind.

Now, the doll sits there, still and lifeless. Its mystery remains, unresolved. And yet, I keep asking myself: is it better to exist and feel everything—the beauty, the pain—or to remain untouched, unchanging, and eternally still?

My reality is going down
I am tired of your mad ideas
I’m frustrated of annoying style
of eternity
did you notice that from the edge of minds?
my head is steeled
did you notice that from the edge of your mind
how
eternity plays on repeat

rustle of life
is charged at the wonder
the way licks our life
you’re alone
rustle of life
integrating into sleep tracks watching review
walking around the corner
walking around the corner

play eternity on repeat
play eternity on repeat

play eternity on repeat
eternity on repeat
play eternity on repeat
eternity on repeat

rustle of head
integrating into sleep tracks
rustle of life
walking around the corner

rustle of head
integrating into sleep
watching review
eternity on repeat

play eternity on repeat

play eternity on repeat
eternity on repeat
play eternity on repeat
eternity on repeat

I remember living in a private house during my early childhood, under five years old. One night, my parents punished me by putting me outside in the dark. It was terrifying! I screamed, knocked, but no lights came on—it felt like the house was empty. It seemed to last forever. Later, I asked my mom about it, and she said it never happened. Maybe it was a dream. Or maybe it was another world. But I know I was there. Even now, when I think about it, I still feel like I’m there.

I often confuse realities. Sometimes I can’t tell what was a dream, reality, or imagination. Eventually, I accepted that I’m “her” in different dimensions, in endless possibilities across time and space. Once, I got so lost that I feared I couldn’t return to normal reality. I chose to come back, but I’m not sure it was the right choice because it changed everything afterward. The fear of discovering your true self haunts everyone—it’s like being afraid to face something, but instead, you live with it.

It reminds me of that scene in Lynch’s film where the man was afraid to go behind the wall, knowing it could destroy him. Yet, he went because everyone said, “Don’t be afraid, there’s nothing there.” And still, out of terror, he died.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. It’s just that discovering yourself is terrifying.

Dimming
in her gleaming eyes
shimmering
in her frozen fingers

you ask me where is her life?
I tell you no idea
you ask me when is she alive?
I tell you no idea
I tell you who’s infront of me

I noticed how information was being erased from me, and it wasn’t the first time. In the subway, something felt off in the air. I looked around and instead of people, I saw beings pretending to be human, like in The Sixth Sense or The Devil’s Advocate. I was terrified because they knew that I knew who they really were. They realized I had learned something I wasn’t supposed to, and they had to act. Fear consumed me, but also surprise—not that this was happening, but because I always sensed things weren’t as they seemed.

I found myself in a parallel universe, not in visions as I had wished. I often dreamt of stepping out of an elevator and finding myself in another world, a world where no one recognized me, where I could escape the monotony of life. But this time, everything felt real. Now they “knew.”

I feared they would destroy me, then thought maybe they were pretending, so others wouldn’t suspect they knew. I kept my composure, waiting for an attack. When my stop came, I got out, suppressing all emotions, and began writing so I wouldn’t forget—so they wouldn’t erase the memories. I wanted to leave a key for my future self, but I ran out of paper, and my thoughts began to fade. By the time I reached the trolleybus stop, my pen had run out of ink.

Still, something remained. They didn’t stop there. When I remember, I will recount these events, because in the end, I live to remember and unravel this anomalous confusion.

In the depths of despair, I’ll find
in the depths of despair of your pale night

your chains are holding me so tight
the weight on my shoulders, it’s dragging me down,
I’m getting empty on my way
haunted by demons, they are in my ear,

I am lost in this chaos
I am running inside
through the venomous tongues
in this endless maze

would you like some
self-love? Blame me
self-blame? Waste it
self-loss? self-joy?
would you like some
self-life? Blame me
self-blame? Waste it
some self-loss? Tell me

enjoy

with every step I can take,
I’ll leave the past behind you
I’ll soar above peace of mind
you know it’s dragging me down,
I am trying to deal
with everything I can feel
I’m sinking so deep tonight
I’ll spread my wings, and drink your pain

don’t
go to the despair where I struggle from this creasy maze
don’t
follow me like demons, who are in my ear all the time

I’m searching for a way out
but the voices in my head
always scream and shout
I’m lost in this chaos, can’t find my route.
In the silence of the night, I’m all alone, oh

would you like some self-love?
would you like some self-blame?
would you like some self-loss?
would you like some self-joy?

At the same time, pouring all my energy into oblivion, I became vulnerable in reality, as I lost interest in it. It sounds simple, but I didn’t even want to think about basic things, like eating, let alone how to live or the people who surrounded me, whether I liked it or not.

Reality became like a 3D chat for me. It felt like a simulated location with partially high-poly meshes and textures full of imperfections, too dull to even focus on. As I wandered the streets, lost in my thoughts, I noticed the constant glitches. I grew tired of it—walking through the empty void of a world that no longer sparked life inside me felt pointless.

Stepping into the bus, my gaze was drawn to a bag in the hand of the woman walking in front of me. The bag was striking, adorned with crudely painted pink lilies. Suddenly, I felt myself among them, as if enveloped by their intoxicating scent, their dizzying beauty. The world around me transformed completely, blooming into an endless field of vibrant colors. While I reveled in these otherworldly delights, a random voice asked if I was getting off at the next stop, and I was pulled back into the dim world of roughness and coarseness. Looking around, I realized the world hadn’t prepared for my return. Green polygonal threads peeked out along its seams, and the textures seemed to flicker like malfunctioning holograms.

while you want it I don’t wanna
know I wanna more and more
what if this story gonna go
the arm is in the stolen move

light was gone
It’s not possible anymore
It’s not possible anymore
you don’t know me

it’s not possible anymore
it’s not possible anymore it’s
not possible anymore
impossible anymore to call
you deserve

you deserve
you deserve

I didn’t look like someone seeking harmony; I was merely a voyeur of the oddities of life’s emulation, wasting my soul, cutting through the silence with blades, leaving or forgetting hearts on someone’s doorstep in a world whose architecture could no longer captivate with yet another daily emulation broadcasting a “tomorrow” that now gets interrupted by deep, distorted, muffled sounds behind a wall that seems to be made of rust and holes leading to perspectives where distortions transform into increasingly distinct, repetitive phrases. …”I’ll show you something important. It’s a secret” — that’s how it always began, from the end, or perhaps the middle, or from a point of irrelevance for some, regardless of when, where, or why. Male, childlike voices… Now, they’re distinctly audible. Time. A journey into it leads to another journey, which begins another chain of journeys, sparking a thirst to test this eclipse, to draw closer to it, while endlessly looping on a plateau, losing oneself in corridors, unaware of which level you’re on. You might think you’re stuck in a parallel, but in reality, you’re like a bacterium in the infinite-level plateau of a world that ceased to exist long ago. Humans no longer exist, except perhaps as a joke — creating countless idols to spite a nonexistent god, idols into which we transform, driven by instincts to create clones of ourselves, who sooner or later become necro-bugs in a moss-covered program that’s drifted off in the vacuum of its own imagined black holes. …”I’ll show you something important. It’s a secret.” That’s when I knew I was on the right path and hadn’t yet lost my way.

wait I’ll be there
in the city of cry
steal my coverage of air
wait I’ll be there

abyss of your love
abyss of your lie
abyss of your life

wait, I’ll be there
in the city of lie
steal my coverage of air
wait I’ll be there
in the city of
while stretching my time

abyss of your love
abyss of your lie
abyss of your life

A little dark-haired girl, about six years old. There were books—maybe it was a library. It felt strange to flip through books in a dream; I hadn’t done that before. I was half-asleep, half-awake, analyzing, moving between different dreams. The girl showed me magazines, but then she said, “I’ll show you something important. It’s a secret,” and opened a book: a black page with red threads. She explained, “This is dark energy with red threads, like tunnels. The energy of love from the dark side, the one you don’t know about. I’ll tell you…”

Suddenly, a woman entered—blonde, around forty-eight, in a light-colored suit, looking like a government employee. The girl quickly closed the book and hid it. The woman shot me a look, as if I was meddling where I shouldn’t, and led the girl out of the room.

When I woke up, I tried to return to the dream. I pretended to be dreaming something else, but I couldn’t make the girl speak again. She kept tracing her finger along the page, but I couldn’t understand anything. I feared she’d confuse me more, and I asked, “Don’t go so fast, explain…”

I tried to go back in time, to bring that image back, to understand, but it was no use. I knew it was a parallel reality, and I needed to know more. Later, I would learn that the dream might be archetypal—perhaps dreamt by others, maybe projections of my own.

But whether they were projections or not, this dream changed my life.

I know you see the other world
someone sings, life in mono
your dye is blind, the crowd inside just another face seems synthesized

you comb the wall along by following the doll
no one seems to care, no one wants to know.

you’re just a crack of rope
in a head of smoke
and you are laughing at the dual rain
’cause you’re soaked with a fake sustain
this stream of consciousness of her means nothing more