Forsaken Art
Hypnagogia
Hypnagogia
A Journey of self discovery in a post apocalyptical world
Amid the remnants of a world reshaped by cataclysmic tremors, unfolds a voyage that transcends the mere act of traversal—it's a journey toward the core of one's existence, a quest for the elusive truth.
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In the haze of this apocalyptic aftermath, a lone figure emerges, navigating the terrain of survival. There's a murmur in his soul, a whisper carried by the wind, and in the night's embrace, he dreams of the sea. This vision, a flicker of both solace and intrigue, plants the seed of a journey, one that propels him to venture into the unknown in search of elusive answers.
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Are his dreams the doors to alternate dimensions or mere echoes of his mind's desires? The perils that lurk along his path are like shadows cast by the uncertain flicker of candlelight. Yet, even in the face of these challenges, he walks, step by measured step, each footfall echoing his desire for understanding.
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Will the shores of the sea, with its timeless whispers, offer the truths he seeks? Will its waves bear the wisdom that unravels the knots of his uncertainties? You have to experience Hypnagogia to find out!
1 - Cataclysm
In the hushed annals of antiquity, a cataclysmic event of monumental proportions unfurled its embrace across the tapestry of time, leaving an indelible mark upon the world's destiny. Eons removed from the present, this seismic upheaval etched its narrative upon the very atoms of existence, an ink of devastation that penned the tale of desolation we now bear witness to.
The echo of that fateful event reverberates through the corridors of history, casting long shadows upon the landscape of today. Barrenness and desolation, the relics of forgotten grandeur, stretch across the realm like ghostly echoes, each desolate vista a chapter in a story shrouded in the mists of time.
Yet, within this barren canvas, there exists an enigmatic beauty, a melancholic poetry that dances upon the winds of memory. The ancient event, though a harbinger of loss, has carved a space for introspection, for the profound questions that arise when one gazes upon the scars left by the tempests of the past.
The world as we know it stands as a testament to the resilience of existence, a living testament to the ceaseless march of time and the echoes of events that remain eternally imprinted upon the fabric of our reality.
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We knew the world would not be the same... A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and to impress him takes on his multi-armed form and says, “Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”
Julius Robert Oppenheimer, 1945
2 - Precognition
The sea, an echo that reverberates through the corridors of his subconscious, a dream woven intricately into the tapestry of his nights. Its stories, spun from the delicate threads of imagination, entwine themselves around the contours of his thoughts, a labyrinth of narratives whispered by the tides of his mind.
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In the quietude of his memories, he recalls the sea's tales, once whispered secrets that now flicker as fragments across the canvas of his recollections. The television screen, a portal to yesteryears, used to cast its ephemeral light upon him, projecting the dance of waves and the endless expanse of the sea's mysteries. Time, like a wistful breeze, carried those images into the folds of oblivion, yet their imprint endured, like faded ink on parchment.
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With each fragment of sea-soaked memory, he reached an epiphany, an irrefutable understanding that this longing was more than mere fancy. It was a pilgrimage, a sacred journey that beckoned to him with an urgency he could not deny. A calling whispered in the very currents of his soul, imploring him to heed the pull of the tides and surrender to the enigma of the sea's embrace. And so, with a heart resolute and alive with the echoes of forgotten whispers, he embarked on this odyssey, a voyage that promised revelations as vast as the ocean's depths.
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Memory makes reality...
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But what do you cling to, moment to moment, if memories can simply change. What, then, is real? And if the answer is nothing, where does that leave us?
Blake Crouch - "Recursion"
3 - Escapism
Embarks on his odyssey, his footfalls setting the rhythm for a journey that cuts through the fabric of solitude.
Amidst the labyrinthine wasteland, a silence stretches in all directions, echoing the resonance of ages past, each expanse holding the weight of forgotten stories.
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Yet within this emptiness, a sudden intrusion shatters the tranquility – a marauding band of scavengers emerges like specters from the void. Their presence ignites a surge of primal instincts within him, a fierce awareness that demands his stand against the encroaching darkness.
He raises his defenses, standing resolute as a lone sentinel against the encircling shadows. In that heartbeat of confrontation, his pulse blends with the rhythm of uncertainty, the dance of survival commencing.
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As the moonlight bathes the scene, his movements blur, a flurry of calculated steps and swift maneuvers that lead him to slip through their clutches. Like a fleeting shadow, he escapes their grasp, disappearing into the folds of the night, seeking refuge among the secrets hidden within the embrace of darkness.
4 - Wasteland
In the wake of the confrontation, he grants himself a fleeting respite, a moment to reclaim the rhythm of his breath amidst the echoes of turmoil. Here, in the quietude that follows the storm, the desolation creeps like tendrils of mist, its presence an undeniable specter that shrouds his surroundings. The remnants of that cataclysm, like a ghostly storyteller, whisper tales of obliteration across the landscape, a narrative of devastation etched into the stones and silence.
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Each inhale carries with it a breath of the world's melancholic past, a reminder that even nature bows before the altar of time's indifferent passage. The aftermath of the tempest remains as a portrait of fate's capricious brushstrokes, leaving a desolation that echoes in the chambers of his thoughts.
Yet within the stillness, there is a stir of purpose, a quiet rebellion that rouses from the embers of exhaustion. A resolve, born from the very core of his being, assembles its forces within him. It's as if the very landscape, in its barrenness, plants the seeds of determination within him, urging him to rise from this momentary reprieve and venture once more into the void.
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With the weight of history's scars upon his shoulders, he recommits to his path. The barren expanse beckons, and he responds, resuming his journey with a tenacity that burns as brightly as the sun that once lit the world. In the face of desolation's gaze, his footsteps become a testament to human endurance, a defiance against the odds that propels him forward into the arms of the unknown.
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I can't recognize the world around me, everything changed...
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Desolation all around me...
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There's nothing for me here. I have to go!
5 - The Journey
With a determined heart, he forges ahead on his journey, his steps now imbued with a sense of urgency that propels him forward. The road stretches out before him, a tapestry woven with threads of rain, each droplet falling in delicate synchrony, forming a curtain that shrouds his path.
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The rhythm of his breath mingles with the resounding symphony of thunder, nature's grand overture played out in the theater of the sky. Each thunderclap seems to resonate with the cadence of his footsteps, as if the very cosmos acknowledges his solitary sojourn and joins him in a silent companionship.
The rain becomes more than just water from the heavens; it transforms into a cocoon of introspection, each drop a vessel of thought that he carries within him. The thunder, a pulse that reverberates through his being, aligning his steps with the heartbeat of the earth.
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In this confluence of elements, he finds himself both a traveler and a conductor, orchestrating his passage through the world's symphony. And as he moves through the rain and beneath the booming sky, he understands that he is part of a greater narrative, a tale woven by the interplay of his steps and the elements, a tale meant for him alone.
6 - The Last Ditch
From the depths of his being, he conjures the final vestiges of his strength, a reservoir of determination that fuels his body for the ultimate exertion that lies ahead. The journey, now in its twilight, demands a last surge of his essence, a symphony of unwavering resolve that harmonizes with the whispers of his heartbeat.
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His footfalls echo with a cadence both primal and ethereal, an echo of his spirit's march toward the sea's very edge. With each step, the landscape unravels like the pages of a story, revealing a tableau where his destiny converges with the meeting point of land and sea.
The seagulls emerge as spectral guardians of this sacred boundary, their graceful wings slicing through the air as they weave their patterns against the canvas of the sky. Their cries, like voices from another realm, resonate with the echo of his heart, bridging the space between his humanity and the boundless expanse before him.
In their flight, he glimpses a mirror of his journey—freedom in their wings, their dance a reflection of his own dance with adversity. Their soaring presence becomes an invocation, a reminder that even in the face of desolation, life's delicate beauty endures, and the journey's end is more than a destination; it is a convergence of paths, a union of elements.
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As the seagulls' cries blend with the rhythm of his breath, a renewed vigor courses through his veins, an energy akin to an unyielding tide that sweeps him toward those final meters. With unwavering tenacity, he strides forward, a testament to his commitment, a beacon of his unquenchable thirst to embrace the vast expanse of the sea.
7 - Transcending Sea
Upon reaching the coastline, his eyes encounter the sea's expanse, an encounter that stirs something deep within him.
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With a sense of reverence, he kneels upon the shore, his lips grazing the sand in a silent offering of gratitude to the enigmatic forces that guided him this far.
As the tide's embrace inches closer, he finds himself immersed in its gentle caress, prompting a decision born from a wordless understanding. With resolute steps, he walks deeper into the waters, each footfall echoing his connection to the boundless depths before him.
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And there, under such a myriad of stars, the sea's black horizon. It's calling for me...
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As a sign of respect but also of absolute despair, I kneel before the transcending sea and caress the sand with my forehead.
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And as the tide rises, I feel the sea mixing up with my tears. Its taste fill all of my soul making me reach temporary light but, above all, a cold darkness.
8 - A Light at the End of the Tunnel
Into the depths he ventures, a descent that transcends the boundaries of familiarity, a plunge into the heart of enigma. Here, the fabric of reality unravels like the threads of an intricate tapestry, each thread leading to uncharted territories, to dimensions yet unfathomed. Is this the dominion of souls departed, a realm where memories weave ethereal landscapes? Or could it be the domain crafted by the whims of slumbering dreams, a landscape sculpted by the imagination's unbridled creativity?
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As he journeys downward, the embrace of the waters takes on a dual nature, both a cradle and a shroud. The tendrils of this aquatic abyss seem to caress him, tendrils of mortality and transcendence intertwining like lovers in an eternal dance. He is suspended between realms, like a raindrop caught in midair, a fragment poised between sky and earth.
The edges of perception blur as he navigates this enigmatic watery realm. Like tendrils of smoke, questions weave their way through his thoughts. Are the currents of reality and dream merging in this liquid sanctuary? Is he passing through the liminal space that separates life from afterlife, where boundaries blur and identities merge into the timeless fabric of existence? These questions surge forth, each a riddle wrapped in the gossamer veil of uncertainty.
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And so, within the fluid embrace of these enigmatic waters, he lingers in a state of suspension, suspended between worlds, his being a canvas upon which mysteries paint their delicate strokes. The answers elude him like mirages, ephemeral and fleeting, as he continues his descent into the abyssal depths of the unknown.
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Where am I? I'm falling down! Where am I?
I cannot see anything. Where am I?!
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There's a light out there. How can I follow it?
And the light... is all... around me...
