opening the book, you find yourself in a dark room, with three doors in front of you.
there is a note taped to the inside of the book.
you are currently on: layer 1
the midnight zone is a place for various things that don't fit the image i want to show myself as, such as vent art and pretentious poetry.
most of the things here have never been seen by any eyes except mine.
feel free to explore, or double-click [resurface] to go back to the main page.
you enter a wide hallway, with frames lining the walls.
it is unlit, save for the single spotlights lighting each frame.
all around you are rows of shelves sitting empty, in front of you is a desk with various papers on top of it.
some of them are weathered and yellowed with age, some are clean printer paper, and some appear to be torn out of notebooks.
there is typewritten text on all of them, with some having handwritten footnotes.
- -theseus
- what happens if in the pursuit of creating something beautiful, you lose all of yourself?
torn asunder by unspoken thoughts.
fragile and silent words, in the eye of the storm.
rebuilding bones out of poems and gold,
heart moving emotions instead of blood.
are beautiful things still beautiful if they don't exist?
if beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
what of beauty that is invisible,
unknowable?
i don't know who i am anymore, so i give myself a new identity for every place i go.
attempting to carve an ill-fitting hole into the world,
one which i can place myself into,
a shape i can call myself.
the creator becomes the created.
my name is not theseus. - re:
- whose face are you wearing?
whose blood flows through your veins?
whose life are you living and whose thoughts keep you up at night?
whose eyes meet yours when you finally have the guts to look at that face in the mirror?
for what is a body without a face? merely that, a body.
and what is a face without a body? it is nothing.
what is nothing? is it the lack of self? of an empty, hollow shell?
or is it the lack of form, a shapeless self without a vessel?
for a being needs to be.
if not, what would it become?footnote: this is an extended version of the original writing (in italics), hence [re:].
- crossing the river sanzu
- what are you afraid of?
a fate worse than death?footnote: this was based on a river i frequently cross, on one side of it sits rows of houses, on the other a cemetary.
- what are you willing to trade?
- for your creation-- a cacophany of concepts.
staring into that dark mirror, trying not to see the reflection.
trying not to see the iron teeth and opal eyes that stare back.
awoken by screaming only you can hear, meaningless and sudden.
frozen in fear not of the sound, but of what could have caused it.
where lies the barrier between sleep paralysis and wakeful hallucination?
when you're so sure you're not alone, yet the room is empty when you open your eyes.
the room is empty.
so then,
what did you hear?
what did you feel?
but there's no point in lingering here, in this thought.
because you're not willing to trade for the answer.
(it would be fun though.)
have you ever heard the angel on your shoulder?
how about the demon?
(it would be so much fun.)
this room is dark and empty, but you feel that something will be here in time.
