Chapter 7 – Breathe Life

The train made its usual stop at Chi-Town. Chi-Town was the last remaining urban centre, where transforming humans dabbled in post consumerist delights like colourful French macarons and antique Balenciaga dad shoes. It was a place for fun and rest.

Daisy sat up. She was awake for the last little while finishing her sandwich and still wondering about Mr. Beaver in the hat. He was gone, probably somewhere between Life and Elevententeen. She was happy to be at Chi, she wondered if her best friend from Calgary was there, Linz. Linz worked with WestJet, a now defunct flight carrier that was sold off to Chapters, a distributor of Paradise Lost. Really, the world was so different now. The practice of social marketing has become a language in and of itself. Depending on one’s technological cognitive ability, SM could provide sustenance or increase relativity of binary disease. After all this time, survival of the fittest was still the game. Daisy’s ultimate goal was to become ultralingual as this was the only true way to cure illness. Humans don’t want to be sick. They don’t want to to dead or alive. Illnesses like depression and bi-polar mania are now coveted by animals as it gives them the ability to solve the difficult riddles that humans have not been able to unriddle over the past couple of centuries. This is why coming across a beaver or a snail was so intriguing to Daisy. She just wanted to know what they’ve found, so she herself could unlock some riddles from time to time.

As she stepped off the bus (she’s been off the train for A Day now), Daisy headed directly to the Nike chain where she would change her outfit into something more practical and beguiling. Her mind thought of lime green, neon orange polka dots and always always white eyelet lace. Animals were attracted to that fabric for some odd circumstance; they believed it to be cream buttering their dreams. Daisy picked something out then headed to the cash-in to check out. While waiting, she made her third eye blind to prevent identity theft, then headed to the bag wall to pick something out to put everything inside. Her next stop was Yoga Passage. It was time to reset and recharge. Yoga these days was literally a moment to decompress. Everything left your body as your soul lay suspended in a neon blue hue, rearranging all of your locations and transformations so you could see properly in A Day or Two. Daisy has been practicing since another life, when she was named Chona and did not finish her teacher training practice as Alice from Wonderland halted a sour pursuit of a man named Justin Patterson that would have led to a full-fledged intoxicated state if the relationship was not stopped by a major car accident. Laying in Savasana, Daisy fondly remembered that life as Chona was full of creativity and ideas that could have and should have been realized. She shut her lids and drifted off into sleep. She could see letter z’s in italicized font drift into space followed by little emoji limes and puffy digital rainbow stickers – it was the stuff of her man made adventures.

This time the mirror showed a faint reflection of silvery blue clouds.

TBC

Chapter 6 -The Train Naps

Daisy was gone for too long. She timidly arose from a nap and could feel her neck bent and sore from the left side. Rubbing it, she felt the temporary relief of coming back to Life after journeying tumultuously on the other side. The train was still moving across moist carpeted land with moss coloured greenery and trees that look like LEGO pieces. She didn’t quite understand when she transitioned back, but she was glad to be here smelling the faint stink of ham and cheese, quite possibly brie.

When you time travel you don’t require nourishment. You only need the specific ability to qualm emotions and transfer to and from sight and blindness. You don’t actually want to see the workings of Elevententeen, what’s behind there is extremely frightening. The framework is made up of spider-like grids, but when you see it, it moves and pulses like a living thing. Daisy shuddered at the mere thought of it. She quickly patted her yellow eyelet dress to ensure it was still in existence. Another way to halt the screams (screams occur when your brain computes the framework pulsing) was to enter Elevententeen with a very specific wardrobe, preferably containing bold colours, pattern and texture.

Sighing Daisy remembered what it was like in social media school to learn about plain old graphic art and design attributes. That stuff was existential now, it served no purpose. People only wanted multi-dimensional graphics, that breathed and pulsed and held meaning. I guess altering genetics in 2019 completely erased humans’ needs for new things and surprisingly technology. Technology also no longer occurred. It was too fickle and rambunctious, so nobody cared about it. It was only about Artha, Manipura and finding pure butter that could slip you back through the framework unnoticed and at a slippery pace.

Daisy shook her head fast and opened her eyes large. “I need to discern if this sandwich comes from land or the sea.” There were no humans on the train today, only empty seats and a refined beaver sipping quietly on Earl Grey. “Well, he looks. Dry relaxed, so I think this comes from the land.” The beaver heard her think and adjusted his frames while cocking his head North East. He wanted to see if he could grab the newspaper from thin air instead of having to hold it in his hands. Paper was so archaic, he thought. Daisy wasn’t sure if he noticed her. Her heart skipped a beat and stopped for a moment as he again adjusted himself out of what looked like discomfort. Inhaling a deep breath, they both fell deeply asleep.

The reflection on the mirror was blank.

TBC

Recent Works 2018 – Green Gadgets

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I’m obsessed with exfoliation — the little blue beads mixed in with shards of nylon rope. Daisy felt fuzzy and warm. The Life Space facial also came with nostalgic effects: mountain-scented glycerin tabs and simulating melted toffee sponge. All in all, you will enjoy your time at Artha Salon. Wait! Come back! You didn’t even get wet yet Alice! Daisy runs past in a fluff.

 

 

Recent Works 2018 – The Plastic Snip

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Pink plastic covered their heads. Depending on their current state, faces were also erased. The only way back to Being was to pretend. This was just a way to distract Manipura, who was often waiting for a green snake signal signifying re-entry into Life Space. And if one could count to a trillion, Artha would begin and re-introduce individual profit gain. Ah, the days had some outgrown runs in sunny, bright Elevententeen.

Grid 2

These ‘grids’ are saving my life.

Amidst a social media strike, I am finally updating the Instagrams, but feel clogged and pained due to an apparent viral sinus infection affecting my entire left side.

It made me cry when I finally picked up my arse to wash the dishes. I angrily threw Tupperware into the drawer, more fluffed that Bishop’s plastic quadrant plate was obstructing  my *stance.

*I only cry in some sort of revelatory station, like that train ride Daisy got on, I die a little every time when I realize I never (in stance) make errors in judgment.

So, enjoy this grid. They shall not be named for sake of simplicity. Bye!

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I’ve Got Some Work To Do, So Please Stay Awake!

Day by day, she fought to stay awake. At night, facing the white wall, she would see her breath come back instantaneously, stirring her into place. The gaze could not help but stare at the odd black shadow that looked like a miniature black, spider web plague.

But seriously, in uni guys, I was feverishly napping on an ex-boyfriend’s mattress and my breath came to me instantaneously, stirring my mind up like a messy face. There was no odd black shadow, but the conceptual piece I had just completed about a red cross, red intersecting paint brushes — which over a predetermined schedule of time morphed (by me painting over it) into a black matte surface of nothingness — was replaced with a glowing symbol of something or other.

Could have been yellow.

I can barely remember.

I gasped for air, clutching my heart as I stared into Kevin’s barren closet only to see me as a ‘doctor’, healing the world from every known pain of mankind. In that moment, my heart sung and I cried. I felt adorned, but yet I was confused as to how this could have happened. How this could be a reality that I, simple Chona Fe, changed the world. How could I be the charging force that set everything in place.

The only other time this happened again, I was napping, this time at my aunt’s house around the bend from our house, in one of the empty rooms. (Note: Filipino homes always have empty rooms) All of the post 80s furniture, including a mainly stark but super reflective black master’s bedroom set had no meaning or intent in that place. That place where I slumbered and was suddenly awoken by, myself. I think I was 13, sitting up abruptly on the left side of the bed staring at myself. Yelling, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I was looking at a reflection that wasn’t ours.

My brother and my cousins, Ryan and Vanessa,  ran from the playground in the centre of the crescent. They heard my scream, they were horrified to think something terrible had happened. But nothing did. I was alive. I was not attacked or eaten in the middle of my sleep. Vanessa grabbed me and I blinked slowly thrice. “What. The. Fuck. I…don’t know what just happened, but I think I…died and I…saw a different person in my…reflection.” I couldn’t even continue. It was that bad.

TBC

She Saw Him First

In university, I was fervently attached to impermanence and how it spoke to love and the meaning of life. My creative process would start with a blank surface, although it did not have to be literally blank, just stark. Definition: Complete; sheer. Purpose: To feel everything; to be whole. And with that, I would commence. Commence a process of removing completeness; commence a process of covering up visibility – to reveal something unique. I was utilizing a very special skill set to uncover my identity.

I am simple. I am me. I am beauty in everything. I am everywhere you need to be.

Pushing down non-artistic capabilities; denying intellectual understandings. It was easier to pretend that I didn’t have drive than to begin the self-exploration required to achieve bigger and better things. I hated that I lacked moral support. I loathed that I was just an artist. If only I had been shown empathy and was equipped with real world survival skills, everything could have been so different.

Everything should be. The space-time continuum moves forward and does not evaluate past failures, previous motivations or work.

My struggle with identity began as a young woman. I felt completely transparent and to make matters worse, my mom would try to help me by covering up any apparent weaknesses with her motherly prowess and intent. I just wasn’t at the receiving end. I did not know how to define it or how to get there on my own. Furthermore, my mom did not have the energy or input to output our individual success. She struggled with many things. Growing up was about resisting and playing, if safe. We both lived in fear.

Fear is weakness. Be passionate. Be real. Be able to tackle everyday things with intuition, knowledge and strength.

Who remembers the wallpaper in their baby bedroom? Who recalls the vibrant tones of shag rugs in every ‘box’ around the house – intense violet, indiscernible mustard, Oscar the Grouch green, rusty red and so on and so forth. Definition: He has a green body, no visible nose, and lived in a trash can. Purpose: To love my body, my style and the way I live. Who recalls bubblegum pink mohair, fresh brand T-shirts from The Body Shop or Le Chateau. Things have changed so much in fashion, things have changed so much in our world.

We are united. We are technological. We are happy and we are proud to be free. 

Really?

Yup, listen to me.

In university, I obsessed over process to the point where I think it became my source of envy. I didn’t understand how Bradley Harms could make these prints like it was nothing.

How the fuck did he do that?!

I do it now, so I’m not worried.

Are you sure?

Listen, at the time, my inner artist screamed. It didn’t matter that I was making things with my own hands or that I was taking things that were already whole, erasing them and reconstructing a sort of murder scene using x’s and o’s. It didn’t matter that I was mapping. What mattered is that I could have turned out.

I was meditating, frowning worries and heartaches away with medicated pens and BIC Wite-Out.

In my mind, I was substantiating Gilles Deleuze…

…and I quote:

“Writing has nothing to do with meaning. It has to do with land surveying and cartography, including the mapping of countries yet to come.”
― Gilles Deleuze

Definition: The technique, profession, and science of determining the terrestrial or three-dimensional positions of points and the distances and angles between them. Purpose: There is already a movie about language saving the world. It’s called Arrival. Can we really still cure cancer with words? (this was my original thesis, you see)

Mapping the continuum can spark regret, so better focus on real world debacles.

I am something out there.

My trek is long and arduous.

What matters however, is living continually knowing that I am loved and spectacular.

Yes, yes!

I actually used an entirely different quote, which I cannot find online, but I do have it written somewhere in a sketchbook. All of this work transmutes the power of being by Being and the power of regression through ignorance. The tale of Daisy emotes this vulgar clash, where love is thrown to sea, but the water is brown and murky. We do not see this however, we only see the elaborate underground scene beneath it made up of pink, green and other living things.

She is trying to objectify life. She is avoiding subjectivity. The beauty is in interpretation!

Thanks to you, bye!

fe.