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This ain’t no reflection; It’s a revelation.


I retreated to the corner of the table, then the room, and while facing you, withdrew from the towering structure.


Now, I see it all:

your body behind the concrete’s viscera, coolly poised amidst the urbanity.


From haven’s glaze, descending to the horizon through the permeable sambucus tunnel,

its light refracts against your reflective exterior, piercing my body with new-found sight.


And thus, I rediscover,

the shimmering mirage of particle-pixel matrix behind the grey air,

and the tangled love and hatred of the concrete-steel jungle.


Incipiently, what excited me were the metaphorical connections between urban living spaces and our mental structure—the angles of walls, the lines of buildings, the spatial relationships of objects—and how they hinted at the potential violence of emotions and love. The way each of us perceives one’s topological relation between ourselves and other individuals/objects formed the foundation of our mental architecture. If we were to imagine the intricate relationships of all things in our cognition as some colossal structure (perhaps infinite, beyond our imagination), the shifts within that structure would appear violent, and the leaps between nodes would seem absurd. We tend to interpret this force that generates structural shifts as love. When it happens, an undercurrent that can destroy life and imply death surges around. This is our life, and this film signifies this kind of life.



My instinct compels me to constantly envision the places I habit in as metaphors for such structures, but I cannot ignore the impact of these spaces and objects on my physical being. I can interact with them, and I can undergo spiritual transformation through them. My living room (or all spaces) is no longer just a living area; it's a crucible for my thoughts and practices. In an era without the internet, everyone could become a life meditator because we would inevitably engage extensively with environments, existing in thought and practice. However, in the digital age, the internet and technology enable us to access the possibility of being gods. By establishing a non-physical network of relations and visualized virtual places, we seem to gain overwhelming control and dominance. The power to imagine topological relationships becomes a daily, legally commonplace mental "drug," and even a tool of consumerism. Online gatherings, chat rooms, comment sections, and such places don't bring us closer but alienate us more. I hope I'm wrong. I hope technology broadens human boundaries, unlocking the potential for humanity to become godlike. If destiny has led us here, I hope "we" can become benevolent and wise deities. "I" want to understand how to let tendrils grow into the pipelines, to focus on how these structures are specifically constructed.


The affirmative side is a city that can be touched, while the opposing is a city with redefined humanity, and between them lies a clearing (of pixels); or an empty mall lounge, a classroom haunted by whisper, and family hallways where blood and flesh are connected ---- places of our roots and memories."


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