Flatland
We now inhabit a world that has seeped into a space shaped by time. In a reality where everything changes relentlessly and without pause, we find ourselves confronting familiar questions: what remains unchanged, and who am I? Yet rather than arriving at answers, we often catch sight of ourselves lingering in the reflections of others. Beneath parrot masks, we imitate and repeat, gradually becoming alike through endless cycles of mimicry.
Who was it that confined us behind these masks? The lives of contemporary individuals, lived in quiet compliance with predetermined angles and measured edges, begin to resemble something flat—like a life reduced to a plane. The moment our gaze turns outward, worries, desires, and anxieties swell into spiraling uncertainties. The wider our field of vision expands, the more the world we once believed we understood begins to dissolve, summoning anxiety as an inevitable companion.
Upon the orbit of everyday life, endlessly circling like a donut, imitation and repetition can quickly color us with the influence of others; yet at times, they also become catalysts for newfound awareness. This is a beautiful contradiction. For while we estrange ourselves through replication, our struggle to move beyond points, lines, and planes—to construct a singular form uniquely our own—remains equally a portrait of who we are.
On a certain blue night, enigmatic signals from beyond blurred boundaries beckon us outward. Just as the limits of time and space cannot define the limits of the self, it is through recognizing limitation that our gaze may finally turn beyond it. Leaning into the boundless cosmos, one may hope to discover the reason for one’s existence when the barriers encountered within life’s dualities begin to fall away.
Now, we reach toward wherever the balloon of time may rise—to a height known only by forgetting itself. Escaping the circular trajectories that once confined us, the moon disappears only to reveal its opposite face once more, as though our thoughts were conceiving new life. Like the parrot-people, whose existence unfolds through repetition and imitation, our lives too resemble this endless cycle.
In dreams, happiness quietly blooms. Curtains that once obstructed are lifted, and thresholds are crossed with ease. Following a drifting balloon, we spiral upward into the universe, while blue forest paths glow in streams of gold. Mountain doves offer gentle blue consolation to parrot warriors, and sweet donuts shimmer softly. The answer to the riddle remains entrusted to secrecy, smiling from the dreamlike folds of time.
We now inhabit a world that has seeped into a space shaped by time. In a reality where everything changes relentlessly and without pause, we find ourselves confronting familiar questions: what remains unchanged, and who am I? Yet rather than arriving at answers, we often catch sight of ourselves lingering in the reflections of others. Beneath parrot masks, we imitate and repeat, gradually becoming alike through endless cycles of mimicry.
Who was it that confined us behind these masks? The lives of contemporary individuals, lived in quiet compliance with predetermined angles and measured edges, begin to resemble something flat—like a life reduced to a plane. The moment our gaze turns outward, worries, desires, and anxieties swell into spiraling uncertainties. The wider our field of vision expands, the more the world we once believed we understood begins to dissolve, summoning anxiety as an inevitable companion.
Upon the orbit of everyday life, endlessly circling like a donut, imitation and repetition can quickly color us with the influence of others; yet at times, they also become catalysts for newfound awareness. This is a beautiful contradiction. For while we estrange ourselves through replication, our struggle to move beyond points, lines, and planes—to construct a singular form uniquely our own—remains equally a portrait of who we are.
On a certain blue night, enigmatic signals from beyond blurred boundaries beckon us outward. Just as the limits of time and space cannot define the limits of the self, it is through recognizing limitation that our gaze may finally turn beyond it. Leaning into the boundless cosmos, one may hope to discover the reason for one’s existence when the barriers encountered within life’s dualities begin to fall away.
Now, we reach toward wherever the balloon of time may rise—to a height known only by forgetting itself. Escaping the circular trajectories that once confined us, the moon disappears only to reveal its opposite face once more, as though our thoughts were conceiving new life. Like the parrot-people, whose existence unfolds through repetition and imitation, our lives too resemble this endless cycle.
In dreams, happiness quietly blooms. Curtains that once obstructed are lifted, and thresholds are crossed with ease. Following a drifting balloon, we spiral upward into the universe, while blue forest paths glow in streams of gold. Mountain doves offer gentle blue consolation to parrot warriors, and sweet donuts shimmer softly. The answer to the riddle remains entrusted to secrecy, smiling from the dreamlike folds of time.
