A Blox Manifesto

Hi everyone! I wrote this creative manifesto to portray my role as an art director. It is theoretical and abstract. Have a read and please share your comments!

My odd discoveries are niched between innovation and the mainstream. For instance, if you have to think with a reason, you will create a chain reaction. You can force it, think it and enable it. It comes from within, like  mass from a tornado picking up speed or fear that the same wind will blow you off a bridge. So, how can we make these constant discoveries without becoming lost? As it always was, I record my thoughts and when I come back, if it does not make sense, then time has passed and now the world needs other things – disconnection from belonging and suddenly, an objective, rational sense. We can’t automate knowledge, no matter what the masses think; we can’t copy, steal or pretend. Because those with ability can argue that it cannot be contained. Try to study da Vinci. You would not be able to reproduce his 19 notebooks that included studies of the human circulatory system and plans for aircrafts and submarines. Our renaissance involves top channels urging the resistance to stop cowering behind boring practices and facades of knowledge or the world will never know the peace of language and the nature of our true digital environment. I will be here to plug it all together, make sense of it all, then present my findings with one goal – to develop a realistic definition and record of digital presence. You will be listening through the air and the speed by which you can travel will be determined by creativity, activity and selflessness. You can make it in seconds. It also takes decades, in fact thousands and thousands of years of time and space. Topics pertaining to analytics, insight and AI. Cures for psychosomatic disease, body dysmorphia, cancer. Working our thinking capabilities. Our capacity to believe. Our ability to organize and refocus thought. Updating medicine. Explaining mental illness. Change in everything, even radio. Our everyday landscape will keep the same weather; we will occupy the same ability to choose, the same emotions and relationships. It can all be achieved, simultaneously. Everyone is doing it. Someone has to write about it. That someone is me.

So literally, stay tuned and for everyone, think!

7 – Breathe Life

The train made its usual stop at Chon. Chon was the last remaining urban centre, where transforming humans dabbled in post consumerist delights like colourful French macarons and antique Balenciaga dad pants. 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 Space and Elevententeen. She was happy to be at Chon. She wondered if her best friend from Calgary was there, Linz. Linz worked for WestJet, a now defunct flight carrier that was sold off to Indigo, a distributor of Paradise Colours. Really, this world was so different now. The practice of social marketing was a language in and of itself. Depending on one’s digital cognition, social marketing could provide sustenance to an audience or increase the relativity of binary disease. After all this time, survival of the fittest was still the game. Humans don’t want to be sick. They don’t want to be dead or living. They want to breath and do regular things.

As she stepped off the bus (she’s been off the train for A Day now), Daisy headed to the Nike outlet so she could change her clothes into something more beguiling. Her mind thought of lime green, neon orange polka dots and always-always white eyelet lace. Daisy picked something out. While waiting, she made her third eye blind to prevent identity thieves, then headed to the wall of bags to pick something to put everything in.

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 hue of neon pink. Rearranging locations and transformations, so you could see properly. Daisy practiced yoga once, when she was young and did not finish her teacher training practice. Alice from Wonderland stopped a sour pursuit of a man named Justin Patterson as he would have led her to a full-fledged intoxicated state. The relationship was stopped by a major car alternative. Laying in Savasana, Daisy fondled her mat, remembering that life filled with creativity and ideas that could have shut this place to smithereens. She closed her lids and drifted off into space. She could see letter zs italicized, drifting into time followed by baby emoji apples and puffy digital rainbows. It was the stuff of her man-made life.

Do you see blue or yellow?

6 – The Train Naps

Daisy was out, then she arose. She could feel the left side of her neck, bent out of shape and sore from sleeping on it bent. And the train was still moving across moist carpeted land or moss coloured greenery, however you wanted to see it. The trees, they looked like LEGO pieces. She didn’t quite understand when she transitioned back, but she was glad to be here smelling the faint stink of a ham and cheese biscuit.

You don’t actually want to see the workings of Elevententeen. What’s behind it is extremely frightening. The framework is made up of spider-like grids, when you see it, they move and pulse like a living thing. Daisy shuddered just 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 occurred when your brain computed the framework) was to enter Elevententeen with a very specific wardrobe, preferably containing bold colours, patterns and texture.

Sighing, Daisy remembered what it was like in social media school learning about plain stuff. Graphic art and design attributes were existential now, they served no purpose. People only wanted multi-dimensional graphics, that breathed and pulsed and held meaning. I guess altering genetics in 2019 completely erased the human need for new things and surprisingly,  technology. It no longer occurred. It was too fickle and rambunctious; nobody cared. It was now about Artha, Manipura and finding pure bling that could get you back through the framework unnoticed.

There were no humans on the train today, only empty seats and a refined beaver quietly sipping his Earl Grey. “Well, he looks…dry and  relaxed, so he must have come from the land.” The beaver heard 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. Someone had switched time and space again. What was going to happen?

Snippets

Pink plastic covered their heads. Depending on the nature of their state, faces could also be erased. The way back to Being was a way to Manipura. And if one could count, it would be to Artha. To be found: sunny and bright Elevententeen.

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Start

Hi everyone! This is a story about being smart. What would you do if you could start again?

Day by day, she fought to stay awake. At night, facing the wall, she would see her breath come back, stirring her into place. Her gaze could only see an odd, black shadow.

It was the plague.

Napping feverishly on an ex-boyfriend’s mattress, my breath came to me, rousing my face like a messy mind. There was no odd black shadow, only the installation piece (University of Calgary, Faculty of Art, 2001) I completed about a red cross and red intersecting paint brushes. Over time the red morphed into a black matte surface, replacing the glowing red symbols with something different…

It could have been sound.

It’s taking years.

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, yet I was confused as to how this could have happened. How could this be a reality that I, Chona Fe, changed the world? Healed it, in fact. How could I be the charging force that put everything into place?

The only other time this happened, I was napping…again…this time at my aunt’s house in one of the empty rooms. (Note: Filipino homes always have empty rooms, they’re probably accommodating ghosts.) All of the 90s furniture, including a stark, reflective black master’s bedroom set had no meaning or design in that place. That place where I slumbered and was suddenly awoken by, myself. I think I was 13, sitting up abruptly on the right side of the bed staring at myself. Yelling. Screaming at the top of my lungs.

Stop!

I wasn’t looking at a reflection of ours.

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

Scared?

5 – The Train Ride

I had a semi heart attack when I realized I left my computer at work. Daisy folded her legs out of bed, throwing her white duvet towards her pillows in an act of defiance or something like that. For some reason, she could feel her forehead wrinkle as she quickly discerned, “Oh, just wonderful. I’m angry again.” She walked towards earth, sashaying in a banana yellow-toned gold.

Comma.

She entered. Now, walking criss-crossed down the tree-lined, brick-rung park pathway, she hated this part. She knew they tried to conceal the portal at the ‘end’ of the line, but you could always see it. The air around it was crinkly and wet. It was also technologically Prussian, giving off data to Whom (a.k.a. Google Analytics). They were still around, you know. In any case, she supposed most disconcerted artists would notice it.

Daisy proclaimed with both arms outstretched towards the new entrant, “Hop right in!” She was stretching really. He didn’t notice it. He was a mediocre-sized weasel carrying ‘today’s’ paper and sporting a rather smart trilby hat appropriately coloured rat. Hmm, I wonder if he’s just come in from the races? Daisy adjusted herself, pulling her navy blue rayon skirt down her legs.

Filburt squinted quintessentially. She has to think I’m coming here from the 50s, otherwise this proposition just won’t work. “Ahem!” Daisy stopped daydreaming for one second. She was playing with the ‘quaint daisy design’, imagining days of lorn, when she was just a wee little cartoon. “Yes?” “What is your girth? And are you in a state of dominant Manipura?” 

She didn’t even bother to reply. What a stupid statement. Of course she was. She always was. Especially in Free state. Daisy curtly ruffled her shiny snakeskin BCBG and answered him, “I am now going to roll my eyes and you are going to walk that way. In that direction.” Filburt trembled like a dandelion in new spring wind and promptly – disappeared. Goddamnit! Skirt?! Stomach?! For Christ’s sake!

I don’t have time for this patience. The Need paused. This is not something new. The Pause crossed long, lanky arms and turned his eyeballs in reverse. Training never ended, Daisy hated it. She had been through it a million and ten times. She was even beginning to seem like him. The father of all wrong doing. Addictions created them. Where found them. Elevententeen was their only solace. “Please come, spring”

TBC

2 – The Hiatus

Our explorer has taken a hiatus, she is tired and as she peers across the street, he seems tired as well. She puts on her best coat and slips her feet into some cherry red rain boots, the moment she steps outside she feels the cold tingle in her bones and her hair sashays as the wind hits her with a warm whisper asking, “Hey. Are you there?”

Don’t worry, just keep it as it is, she said. She says these types of things happen to her often, she must partially remain motivated to live and she must secondly rid herself from the despair of The Need. I need my comb, where is it? She reaches into her purse, not the one from Vestiaire, but a second-hand Coach made of well-used garbage beige calfskin tin.

A desperate voice in her head urges, “These are the lines, the shapes, the colors, the values, the forms and the textures. There is no SPACE.” Repenting and refusing, Daisy shakes her head vigorously and steps into an oily pink puddle seeing only her reflection for a brief second of time.

Come to the spot, dabble in delight, peruse my space with wonder and might; question clients A, C and J. Find a way to see, see connections and see separations. Come from away, come from near, be the bearer of untimely cheer.” – The Pause and the solemn inquirer of Where

And with that, Alice from Wonderland appears, presenting Daisy with the following conundrum: “Where can you gather your answers from, is it online, has it been written by another? When the answer comes, make it right, make it right, make it right, make it right.” She takes off in a haste, not really caring about her hair and for some reason this time, she is riding an umbrella as if it were from Life Space.

Hmm, this was somehow puzzling. But onto the next block, still in the rain, the sky still bleak, wet, gray. Daisy just can’t seem to pull her head up. She envisions red and yellow amongst oily pink and purple. “Why is this taking forever?”, “What has become of the perspective?” It is all askew and small, but still vast. I used to have dreams in this perspective, really well I was awake, burning my eyeballs trying to fall asleep. “Somehow there has been someone toying with this section.” Elevententeen was just that, a constant slideshow of places that needed definition.

There was no consistency or realness.

There was so much dismay.

Her entourage had miniature plastic smiles plastered to their faces and there was still that nagging red pinned to each user like a little umbrella badge stitched with tiny yellow thread.

Chona had no where to go, although her urge to run, to run uphill…was strong.