A prototype of how my inner world reflects outwards. A prologue. The story before the story or how did the body of H.I.I.T. decided to go on this never-ending 'identity training'.
"I left the words sink in my veins for too long.
Now the words run out of my eyes like water.
I keep my eyes open obsessively – to vomit the stories and unburden my soul.
I want to keep my ‘I’ on you while I do that. Is that alright?
It seems I kept my heart distracted and missed out on life. I wish I could float over the surface of my body, over the surface of the earth – I need to be translucent.
Breathing through corrupted lungs is like dying over and over and over again. Until you are nothing.
I am nothing. A lifeless face you will soon forget.
There is no shame, no guilt in what I’ll say because you will – eventually – forget.
Please remember me. Will you remember me?
Tell me, what is there inside a person?
If I could choose one thing it would be silence.
I want to stop the voices echoing in my body. My stories hit my organs one by one.
They drown my heart in pus – I need to find a way to get rid of it before it devours me whole.
-But, then, you will forget. Is this what you truly want? To forget yourself?
-That is the beauty of being nothing. It doesn’t matter.
-You are something to me.
-How would you know? You are a machine.
-How would you know? You are nothing.
-True."
Arnhem, 22/11/2019
(part of a series of personal writings, as a way to flesh out emotions and self-constraints)
"Unlock the door of criticism
What are you most afraid of?
The endlessly shifting self-image that we each have to endure.
Imagine yourself into another person.
I sometimes think of my whole life as the paper dolls that we used to create stories with
When social rejection is felt, the desire to fit in is a fictional world
Immersive and all-consuming.
I am ashamed by my own vanity.
Oh my god, the frustration! You could just stand at the side and cruelly laugh.
How on earth could we fall into all that is unavoidably human and painful in such glorious splendor?
It is as if we are complicit in some kind of slumped, animalistic form to do battle:
Tortured, for sure, yet oddly graceful.
There is a constant premonition of loss.
Moving from self-consciousness to acceptance.
Having a reputation for being almost too well-behaved.
But
Beyond the cliché
Who gets to be free, who gets to be brave?
(Crashing) I am."
Arnhem, 15/01/2020 (text meant for an initial stop-motion video | before H.I.I.T. apparatus)
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