Brain Damage

This is an experimental stop-motion video I created using 750+ frames of transitioning blue lights on my bedroom desk using daily life objects as props for this project on a late Sunday night when I was bored. This video represents the dream that loops within the mind of a lost soul who feels he is losing his mind and losing himself to the mundane disappointments of real life, losing his sanity to drugs, music and an unfulfilled claim at redemption. Hope you enjoy this.

Guiding Light

The sun and the moon
Spinning dizzy circles within circles

Multicolored dimensions transcending upon each other
Seemingly, blindingly bright white

Has an angel ascended to the throne?
Or is it just an ethereal mindtrip...?

Some of us see the dark side of the moon
The black holes on the sun's face

And collapse upon ourselves with
Negativity breeding within like contagious smog,
Billowing smoke rings riddled with darkness

Teasingly reaching out to the source that feeds.

But now..

Now it has all merged, condensed
Into one single consciousness,
A unilateral train of thought
A mindgame.

The angel is testing us
We reckon.
The angel is the guiding light,

Our guiding light.
We have faith.

Shallow, the ocean seems,

Inconsequential, the mountains seem
But infinite, the light seems.

Infinite, the light is.

 

Epilogue:

Time flies past us all

And yet we wander amongst the valleys of timelessness

Seeking the infinity that evades us

Time after time after time after time

Oh so simply.

Oh so beautifully.

Shine on, guiding light.

Sleep, the Moth cried.

Nothing new has bloomed here underneath the dawn sky.
Barely a flicker of a flame lights up the cold grey walls
Casting shadows, moth shadows.

Moth moth on the wall, your fate will foresee you.
Your eyes will lead the way,
Let you scale the treacherous summit.

Serene as a pitcher of ice
Dawn dawns upon dawn.
Marooned at the far end of the plank of ethereal reality
Courage dissolves and hope manifests.

Architecture reigns.

Grey skies, dawn skies, time flies.

Condescendingly and yet reassuredly,
Moth cries, the moth cries

Where lies your name? The moth cries.
What purpose do you hold?
Do you hold purpose? The moth cries
Or does purpose hold you.

Purple haze...dawn dawns upon dawn.

Progress, do you? Or decay? The moth cries.
Destruction and carnage? Peace an unfulfilled dream?
Tell me more about betrayal and the loss of faith
Redemption and sacrifice.


Firefly firefly, moth firefly
It burns brighter.
An aura takes hold.
Radiation takes hold. The moth
Is now a firefly.

The Smile Of The Ancient One.

Shimmering like a wavering radiant dark moon over the dark foreboding ocean,
Thoughts flow from his eyes in the form of tears of ancient knowledge.
Speaks He does, The Ancient One,
Words of wisdom.
And yet no sound can be heard.



Assembled inside the arena, they wait for him like starved wolves.
Expectations are heightened and a mass sense of discomfit lies tingling in the air.
Speak to us, they cry out.
Scathingly critical.
They hold their glasses of wine, up in the air.

Speak to us, they cry.





And He speaks.





The crowd is silenced.
The crack of dawn rumbles in the horizon
And the highways of the mind are now open roads.



Minds wander
Wander to unknown avenues and cosmic entities and surreal places
In a trance, they sway.
Sway to the words of the ancient one.


Thunder and flames; lightning and smoke.
Swaying to the music.
Music of the words.
Blinding flashes of white light
And a trembling cloud spilling out a delirious fusion of vivid colors.
Sway to the words of the ancient one.


Vultures and raptors; coyotes and cactii
Rattlesnakes and boulders; the cries of lone wolves
Isolated and stranded, and yet surrounded by the wanderers
Enchanting night skies, desolate open spaces
The starlight.
Starlight.
Sacred starlight.


A flicker of a smile passes upon the wrinkled face of The Ancient One
He knows.
He shakes his head.

Picks up a wine glass He does, and pours himself The Divine Fluid.
Ayahuasca. Santo daime. Natem. Shori. Yage.


And in a tranced state, He joins his audience in the beautiful highway between this world and the next.











" I'm in the wrong body, the wrong form, the wrong thoughts, the wrong life. ... I'm the mask, painted and empty, nothing more than a vessel for other entities to see through. Talons curl into the eyeholes to twist and stretch me apart. My tongue is torn loose and my stomach ripped through my throat. Burning and liquefying. All is molten rubber, stinking and agonizing. I'm changing."

Lucid Dream # 1

\It forms red triangularly inclined pyramids at the edge of your corneas while the skies burn like flashing beats inside a dark cave dimly lit up by a spontaneous delirium of low fi sound that emanates across every perpendicular vortex that surrounds you when you dissolve into a multitude of crystalline drops and you toss your books into the air and they float on to the sound of a guitar that strums to your favourite tune and you think of monkeys mating towards a penultimate aim of unconscious expansion and the tantrum the grasshoppers are making with their monotonous yet varying decibels of lucrid screeches trips you out to a world where you see tarantula sillhoutes expliding across a white screen and your senses are taking over you and it feels like you're in a battlefield and a void all at once, someone coughs and someone speaks and someone mutters incomprehensible phrases to you as you chant childhood prayers you remember vividly like someone fed it to you.\

Monkey.

Send them in. Send in the army of headless reptilian parasites. Allow them to suck the life out of every colorful entity within the room. Allow them to reap personal benefits in storms of egocentric winds off every fabric of life that breathes inside. Watch them strangle anything green and anything that grew from seeds. Witness the destruction of the psychedelically infused walls that keep the room linear, and shiver as the cold wind blows in from outside. Send them in right now. With scarred hands and eviscerated livers, they will smile coldly when they see it all falling down in front of their own lifeless eyes, and they will cackle with malicious glee when millions of generations of thoughts, images and words will all condense into a clot of nothingness.

But a TV screen shimmers outside their line of sight, but within the same room. It is now playing a slow, sad melancholy tune; a tune that cries of lost love. Something the creatures within the room will never be able to comprehend. They are unaware, as they stand in a circle, with their hunched backs, laughing away at the sight of nothingness around them - the reality of chaos. They are unaware as their backs are turned away from the television that is about to explode into a million little pieces.

A deafening explosion, and a whole ten minute bout of silence later, all that is left in the room is chaos.

Chaos creating chaos creating chaos.




The passage above is an analogy of the simplest truth that mankind always knew and will know till the day it call comes to a gracious end. Well, gracious in terms of the sheer magnitude of chaos that is bound to ensue.
Chaos that leads to chaos. Which leads to chaos, which leads to...chaos.


It is a rather bizarre analogy, but you get the point.

Interstellar Overdrive.

Meet me at the equinox and sing me a lullaby. Put me to sleep at the inner edge of outer space where I can just crawl into a fetal position and watch as the black holes reveal their secrets to me in full blown technicolor. Give me a stringed instrument painted in black that blends with the interstellar darkness, that I can strum as I feel the breeze from a beach that I conjured up with my imagination, blow over my face, smoothening my wrinkles. Take me to your leader, and help me help him with helping me to rise up into cosmic ecstasy, beyond where the sand can dampen my hopes, beyond and above to where only my infancy has let me go to. Drive me somewhere infinitely awe inspiring, where the sheer beauty of the cosmic magnificence around me would overwhelm me so much, I'd be left reeling for eons to come. Triumph over me as I drown in my self loathing verses, pushing myself to a personal breaking point. As a wise old man once said impulsively, it's always beyond your abilities to watch nebulas bloom as the winds of astral knowledge weigh your eyelids down; it is as impossible to achieve as to divulge in your own deep thoughts, unpertrubed by interfering obstacles that would otherwise condemn the pleasant breeze to a harsh blizzard. Just let me feel the warmth for once. Liberate me from this madness.

Thank you for listening.