I always intended to come back.
As soon as the wolves were gone,
I used to say.

But that was many years ago.
Long before each step began to ache.
Long before my eyes dried out,
and my bones grew brittle.

But I’m here now — and there’s no time to waste.

Sky’s green whispers fade
Earth below holds silent thought
Two worlds in one vessel

Tranquil breath falls white
Stars emerge within echoes
Quiet tears sparkling

Silent hoarfrost clings
The morning stirs, a sparkle
Thoughts unwind the days

Naked tree’s brittle skin
Black feathers quivering, hush
Only the raven nods

Ground taut, frozen stiff
Slow light etches windows, hums
Kitten’s warmth draws near

Winter sun stabs low
Shadows sneak on patchy ground
River shushes clear

Masks crack, truth emerges
Fading thoughts, a smeared trace
Shattered beat remains

This darkness is not the darkest it can be. The constant noise of sublimation is not the loudest it can be. This foul taste of incoherent bullshit is not the worst it can be. You know? You know. You know!

Suddenly everything shifts and the bubble we define as equilibrium bursts, only to reveal that the darkness is a little darker, the noise a little louder, and the foul taste a little more unbearable.

Now you know.

There is your world again, colours unfamiliar, edges blurred. Time flies and leaves you unable to adjust to this new and disorienting reality. A sudden shiver, and quietly the world moves on as if nothing happened. But you are different—different from before the sudden change, the sudden change in you.

Speak! For you know time.

If you can’t convince yourself, convince the world. It’s always easier to persuade others.

All people are foreign. I am alone, and so are you. – Oxytocinase

Just talk to strangers and convince them about the threads of your consciousness you find so hard to convince your self of and enjoy the slight possibility to change the world through the means of others.

And isn’t this the doctrine of our omnipresent religiously self-righteous power structures anyways?

Oh, and if you don’t like the idea of talking to strangers, talk to one of your own selfs. Maybe with a little help of dissociative ego killers to make the conversation more interesting.

In the end, you are the world and the world is just a you-monad. So, just go for it!

I perceive the passage of time by observing the change of things I am able to locate. Time is part of the narrative my consciousness constructs out of the subconscious artefacts roaming my cerebral network.

My memories and imaginations are part of this story as much as my senses. There is no difference between the use of my senses and the use of my memories or imaginative capabilities. My brain is an integral part of the world it senses and so is my consciousness and therefore my perception of time and location.

A fellow time traveller once needed to remind me that every time has its place.

The moment after I shut my conscious down will be timeless. Travelling through time at zero speed. Being in no place. I am longing for that for aeons.

The pain it might cause in others? If I leave a place and travel time, I never see it again and never meet someone who has been there nor will...

Everlasting abundance creates a void. You can feel it. Look at all the things that surround you. Scan the place you inhabit. Try to enumerate the artefacts you collected over time; feel the sheer weight of it. Now focus on your inner space. Ignore the opinions and assumptions. Just let the void stare at you. It’s your void – yours alone.

It grows with every compensatory act of yours, feasts on it and indulges on every countermeasure you take. It lacks substance but is substantial. It is empty but drags you down as soon as you let it cross your eyes.

It’s like a hologram touching a hologram. Folding and folding at a constant pace. The surface is so vast that it is endless. It has no dimensions at all but projects itself with uncountable dimensionality. Scratching on your persona(s) from the inside, forcing you to contain it.

Cover it, cover it now! You will still feel it lurking under...

This blog is a landfill for my brain dumps. The error log of a broken time traveller. A collection for the sake of it.

I don’t feel at home in this world. Maybe because I am autistic, maybe because of my alexithymia and aphantasia, or maybe — just maybe — because I am a depressed aardvark with words to dispose of and a lack of purpose and ideals.