Neural Gaps
The spaces between neurons where thoughts spark and linger.
Imagined archive
Silva Nigra
An imagined forest of associative thought.
Chamber
Archive chambers
Index
Recent fragments
Notes newly fallen from the black forest, arranged as a quiet index.
Caity & Greta
A fragment I found in an old Obsidian archive and rewrote.
Time Knot Part I: Getting a Whiteboard Eraser Thrown by an Old Professor
Notes on the limits of the linear model in understanding the intersection of two opposing arrows of time.
A House That Appears Empty from the Outside
Listening to: Clara Schumann — Nocturne Op. 6 No. 2 (1827 Stein piano) I listened to it through my earbuds with eyes closed, letting every detail of the sound felt in its entirety. This music is profoundly soothing, slowly carrying me to another world—to a house that appeared empty from the outside. Yet inside, I saw a young girl playing a bell. Suddenly, it was as if a faint, illusory sound of a bell seeped into and merged with the music itself. ...
Before Loneliness is Defined
The lonely one. That is what she was called, in a story written by a seasoned solitary. She was called so because no one realized she was lonely— not even herself. The reason was simple: She had yet to define “loneliness.” So the woman decided to embark on a journey. To seek the true meaning of something that had quietly clung to her. She closed her gate softly, So that God wouldn’t notice. ...
A Dialogue Between Neurons
A cafe dialogue about loneliness, the dualism of the mind, and a network of mischievous neurons.
My Apologies, I Have Failed to Remain Consistent
If I am a mirror, and the mirror is you, then we are one. It sounds romantic. But logically… it is horrific.
Leptosia & the Café Between Neurons
One night, long before I knew anything of encrypted texts, little Mus was awakened by the sound of crying, rising and falling like a musical scale. A girl in an ivory-white dress sat in the corner of the room, leaning against the cold wall. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her head bowed, her face hidden in the folds of her arms. In the narrow space between breath and sob, tears fell. ...
Troides Helena
In a corner of my mind, there lies a realm called Silva Nigra; a forest of blackened leaves. At its heart stands Aristolochia, a castle woven from biomolecules. There, Troides helena dwells. Outside my mind, she is merely a butterfly growing rare, cast aside by human exploitation of the tropical forests. Queen Helena is renowned for her exquisite beauty. Her forewings are a deep, ink-black; her hindwings a vibrant yellow, etched with poetic, dark patterns. ...