Mi and the Serpent

(extract from the story)

Mi was sitting on the swing caressing the grass with her foot when the earth trembled. An electric impulse pierced her barefoot, shot into her body and ventured eely through her blood like a magnet towards her heart. Her light brown ragged dress dried up and shivered like an autumn leaf in the wind.  As she lost consciousness and dropped down to the ground the hall of unexplained beauty was unveiled to her and that which was taken for granted transformed, then it spoke.

Bathing in the womb of the earth, far below the surface hidden from the knowledge of man, lives a giant Serpent. She lies in a watery cavernous place and like the roots of the trees doesn’t bother herself with us, or so it seems. But unlike the roots she absorbs unexpressed passion and fearful fires, turning surroundings into carbon, cooling the boiling waters with frozen dreams. She knows of course our every move, secrets and endless steaming wishes that storm in clouds from the busy heads of ours. There is nothing she doesn’t know, from our darkest hour to our brightest star. The Serpent demands the deepest of respect as any master of secrets should. For as long as there is terror sipping, the Serpent will stay in hiding conjuring evil bidding through hands and lands of many. As fear evaporates, the Serpent is freed from her hiss to speak in tongues of courage, bringing tantalising curves, satisfaction and wisdom. Attributes it possesses above all other creature.

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The scientist: a white cat

In the old park house I met a white cat. His name is Diamus. He has some very interesting stories to tell.  As a matter of fact I haven’t slept a wink for many, many days due to his stories, it’s hard to say how many as I have pretty much lost track of time but my guess is a month without sleep, though I may be way off. The thing is that Diamus hasn’t stopped. Well that isn’t entirely true, he gives me a few moments to eat and have a stroll around the old Parkhouse’s peaceful white garden, white due to it being covered in snow, he tells me that normally it is green, orange, purple and white, which is hard to believe right now. So yes, I have mostly been sitting by the warm stove hearing his stories.

I guess I sort of asked for this back then, I just didn’t expect a cat to be the protagonist of this quest. I am a huge fan of the park but I am also a scientist, well I was anyway, but that is another story. You see once upon a time I started making a map of the park so as to figure out what it was all about. It was an exciting prospect at first. I started by a small hill, which was my favorite part. It is fairly barren and has at its highest point a tree with a bench next to it and lots of cute little paths going to and from it, I used to think that the hill had been made for me especially. From there I could see a good amount of the park’s landscape but not as much as to get scared away by my daunting task. I sat there many times wondering where all the paths lead and one day they asked me to draw them, and then they said that they wanted to know what they belonged to, where they were going. And that is how it started.

The map had to be done methodically and I knew that step by step by step I would find that place. I was once told about it, it’s a somewhere in the park which shows you the widest possible view of the where and how of the park’s ways. Full of anticipation I packed a bag and embraced this challenge. I really had no idea what I was giving myself into. From my bench the view was truly restricted. Don’t get me wrong, there are no regrets, I am happy I am making this map (I am still working hard at it by the way) but I find it amazing how long I actually sat there, back then, before speaking to those little paths. I am not sure that making a map is a good plan anymore, not after having met Diamus, but that doesn’t matter I will not give up.

Diamus laughs a lot. It is annoying at times, especially when I ask specific questions and I need specific answers. Laughing it’s difficult to mark on the map. He has told me that I will find a place where many stories gather, he says it’s in the middle of the park but I will only get to it if I am on my way around, not out. I think I know what he means. At the moment I haven’t quite worked out if I should leave this place to continue my documentation or stay here until spring. Not sure it’s my decision anymore.

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The Wobbly House at the end of the world and the Council of Rabbits

Part 1

The scientist had been walking in one direction for two long days, moving further into the barren country. He noted in his mark-pad that few parts of the land had farming potential, that the terrain was overall red and broken with scarce and prickly vegetation; he made sketches as he had got accustomed to doing every hour or whenever the view changed notably, and finally stopped by the shadow of a tree for some deserved rest away from the rays of the scorching sun. A herd of wild horses ran past him at great speed. After good rest he made a note that this vast flat landscape was both haunting and pleasing to him, he was still unsure of how this type of information would eventually feature in the Park-hallmark-Maps – his life’s work – he was aiming to avoid things like that, feelings. Being far from scientific they had no place in such a valuable document but for now he had no choice but to jot them all down, though of course he hadn’t given up the idea of finding his way through logic alone and truly getting rid of this annoying activity he had succumbed to. Since he started the mapping task forgetfully many moons ago he had, increasingly so, acknowledged his state of mind as a vital ingredient of the description of each parkscape, not because it was easier to explain what he saw that way, but because it was unavoidable. Without it the park wouldn’t have its varied views. When he first started he had spent much time going from the top of a hill down through the various paths taking note of every single thing. He used to sit on a park bench, feeling like the architect of a beautiful empire as he recorded, sketched and measured the remarkable surroundings in minute detail, he was at the summit of it all and he could without difficulty see the task ahead. It was when he started noting his state of mind, which by the way led him to hang upside down with his legs over a large branch of an abandoned and robust oak tree for half a day, when the intricate and mystical paths had shown themselves to him.  Therefore, even though he knew that it was an unethical way of recording facts, he couldn’t help it; it was what had to be done. This day, in the stillness of the shade he continued to verify his mood, he sensed intense hope, a couple of times he could have sworn it touched his fingertips. Hope, why hope? Who cared about hope? Then it was there again, strong and clear, hope was touching the tip of his little finger and in the distance a wave formed in the sky, a cold breeze made him turn around, and just there in front of him, a stormy ocean appeared. A small and humble country house was drifting on its dangerous waters, the door opened and myriads of whispering voices shot through his ears.

They had all forgotten why they called her Queen, but that was her true name.  This day the humble house was as any other day, spinning still. The Queen was submerged in wonderment of her last creation, a perfect specimen of her fine taste, this one alone could very well be the reason she had survived the hardship imposed on her throughout these last years.  Her graceful large eyes were fixed on a black dress, straight, above the knee and with three white diagonal stripes across the top extending over a three quarter sleeve. Elegant and practical it was, like herself. She didn’t notice that her younger sister, the Princess was modeling the dress with much discomfort, partly because she didn’t like the stripes down the sleeve, they felt exaggerated and too rigid, on top of that she was hungry and anxious and the offensive stripes made her feel like one arm was heavier than the other. Her face clearly marked her distress, but this was an important moment for the Queen to savor and nothing was going to spoil it for her. The clammy smell of the stew brewing next door, squash, carrots, potatoes, sweet potatoes, beans and beef shank was tormenting the Princess.  Maybe what bothered her most was that she didn’t understand why she had to follow her sister’s dreams when she had her own. She wanted to leave this place for true life adventures, the wobbly house was at the end of the world and the only way to save herself from falling off the edge, which happened to be just there after the fence by the row of thin tall trees, was to get away as quickly as possible, but she had no idea how. Some days when she looked out of the window, she could see a big ocean next to the rabbit cages; its glimmering beauty called her, telling her to sail away. This both amused and frightened her. Her daydreams were so strong that she was collecting timber to build a boat, just in case the ocean actually did work out to be real. Today, after their meal the Princess felt especially sad and went to sit under her lonesome fig tree to cry a tear or two.  She was completely unaware of the plans that were breathing the air that very moment. The council of rabbits had decided to take action, and when the rabbits do, they sure do a lot.

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Lele is: Dreaming times

Some dreams feel bigger than others. I don’t think they actually are.

Maybe they dwell deeper, in lands not credited in our earth bound conscious mind.  When we look at them they seem like infinite wilderness of woo-woo land. We get lost and hope for the best.  Or build a house of protection and stay for a drink, or two.  Or we might work out a map.

Some dreams feel like bullshit. We vomit hate and flush them.  Or tear them out after a long and painful sniff.

Some dreams just don’t recall.

My dream I speak of was insanely distant, which makes it wonderful in both pain and joy. Now I see that it has always been with me. It’s the biggest cliché of time and space, the dream I have is here, in this place with you. It’s exciting times indeed. It’s the time when matters merge, where submerged in many nights reality and fantasy emerge to twinkle in broad daylight.

I have never been interested in re-constructions or life drawing. Alright, if I must I’ll draw, make and do, but it bores me to do what I see without anew.  I want to feel, see and hear alterations as I am in all possible combinations at once. It has been and remains quite a challenge in this ordered world. You may answer that it sure is in chaos and so forth, and that there is little of the order I speak of. But please, really what is known is the order of the day as day to-day persists. This is no banter, but a call to thee who may feel inclined to move images around in life and dream to play hereafter.

The Park worlds of Mi and Zu came from these kinds of thoughts. Generous and flexible. Naïve and obscure.

As they do, these stories began in several ways in life over a long period of time. If a start must be named, it was a game that developed from the millions of children’s drawings I have scattered all over the walls, ceilings and cupboards. This play was transformed between two dear friends and turned sour due to an evil crocodile spell that made it hungry for galore.  But as rabbits do like to multiply the stories travel over world and wide and continue to breathe the air of the extraordinary Park.

Watch this space for stories, characters and all that.

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A part of our story: The meeting of little self

Somewhere in between dimensions a communication was sensed. They hadn’t met for centuries. One was full of hope and the other, so far nowhere to be seen.


I am sorry. I left you there. Bewildered and lost in a sea of nonsense. You could not understand what was happening to you.  You tried to follow a thread, to understand why, how, when, what. No answers.  I left you there. You were nervous from day one.  You were so confused and so small. Somewhere far away in a distant place you felt that a few things made sense, something was hidden somewhere, it felt warm and safe. It kept you going, but home was nowhere to be seen. I know it was a shock. I know that day made you cry, a cry that still echoes in eternity. I broke your heart. There was no other way. One day you will understand, one day. I want to see you in radiant colours. But I can’t.

I want to meet you. Please do not run away, no more fear I promise. The day you and I meet again will be that day, the day you are free. What do you think? Will you ever forgive me? Can it be done?

I am hoping that time will come very soon. I am wondering where to meet. But all is grey. I am so sorry. I know it was a shock. That cry still echoes in my heart. I tried to reach you believe me, but it was in vain. You could not hear me. There was too much pain.  I can feel you running. Maybe it’s not easy, but we must meet.

I don’t know what I can say to make this easier. I know what you felt I know what you thought. You were betrayed. You were abandoned. You were blindfolded and beaten senseless. You were made to climb a steep mountain only to be shown the vastness of despair. And worst of all you were invisible. No one noticed. No one really cared. At least not enough to ask; who are you, where do you come from? You were searching for answers in the eyes of strangers, or a glimmer of hope, but all you got was a jungle of fear. Fear and loneliness. I am so sorry. You must understand that it is not too late. I can help you, like you helped me. Let me hold your hand. Let us do what we planned to. Let us laugh and hug. Without you I am not complete. Actually without you I am nothing. I cannot function. You are everything to me. You mean the world to me. Your laugh, innocence, beauty and freedom are the world, but all has been buried and forgotten. I am sorry.  I didn’t know any better. I didn’t see it coming.  Forgive me. Forgive them too.

How can I take that blindfold off your eyes? How can I un-suffocate you?  Show you a miraculous view? It is not too late. There is a way.

But I don’t know where you are, where have you run to? Where are you hiding? I don’t want you to be hurt again. I would not recover if that were to happen, it has to work. You and I together is the only way.  Let’s us meet. Let’s us see what happens. Gently. No rush.

What do you say? I will sit in silence for as long as it takes, and wait, for your whisper, touch or smell, anything you can spare me. I will be very still so any little sign will do. There is no rush, in your own time.

And just in case you are still too terrified, hiding in a corner, let me help you ease your way.  That which you dreamt is real.  That which you felt, is real. That which you feared, is soon gone. You see I am a magician, but not complete without you. It cannot be without your laughter.

I have found a place. It’s on the top of a hill, in a park. I have found my seat and a bed, a rather handsome looking bench; I will be there for as long as it takes. I look very different but you will know who I am. There I can show you the ways of the world from a distance. There we can escape when we want to. There we can take part in the story when we feel to do so.

Let me recall. Let me show you who I see. I see this wonderful sparkling girl with an extraordinary joyful nature, nothing can stop her, nothing ever will. I sense a sea of untold stories, of dreams to be dreamt. I see a power so great that it goes beyond all fear; it crosses boarders and builds bridges. It knows that it will laugh and dance through it all. I will hold your hand yet I am wondering if you will hold mine. You see I am now stepping down to let you lead the way, it will be a new game to play, you will know I am there and I will not be real to others. You will know no fear, as wonder and laughter will override that which you may have carried on. There is more. There is a lot more. I can’t wait for your response to share this with you.  I can already feel your smile.



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The Artist – A New Story

Throw yourself in the deep, take the leap and don’t look back. That is how it starts and that is how it ends. And if you really do not like it in the middle, please do not fret, just you start again.

She woke up at peace. She was feeling happy for the first time in years. Possibly the happiest she had ever been. She could not remember why. Life just was. She had woken up far too early this beautiful April morning, and started walking around the house wondering what had gone in to her when a deep sorrow got hold of her chest; it hurt so much she had to sit down. She wanted to give it a name but it wouldn’t identify itself. Never mind me, it said, it is you that you should be worried about. After a couple of meaningless hours in bed staring at the ceiling she fell asleep and had one of those dreams you swear actually happened. In the dream she was on a tree covered hill and a voice was calling her. She was wearing a white nightdress walking around the trees, up and down the hill in a slow almost hypnotic pace carrying two heavy old suitcases, one in each hand. She didn’t know where her light, almost hovering body was heading nor the faintest idea where she was, though the place felt somehow familiar. Maybe she recognised it from a book or a film? She could see a white house by the foot of the hill. Close to it was another house, this one she recognised straight away, that was her neighbours’ house. It was not until later that she realised that the white house was hers. At this stage she was unsure of everything and feeling dizzy, light-headed and somewhat nutty, nothing made sense at least not in the usual way. Why was she walking around with these bags? She started panicking. I don’t even know if they belong to me, she thought, I can’t just walk around with them. But she couldn’t put them down; the mere thought gave her the shivers and overwhelming sense of sadness. After all, this was all she had. They were extremely heavy, and she wondered what she could possibly have in there. Then that voice again. Calling her, and laughing. And more laughing and now there were lots more voices laughing. She decided to follow them. She started feeling paranoid, thinking that someone had placed her there. It was hard to walk and the bags were impossible to put down. Finally she collapsed and announced out loud: No more, I have no strength left, whoever thinks this is funny come and explain it to me, because I don’t like this joke! Not one bit. And she cried and cried until the stream of tears caressed her with an answer. Open the bags it said to her. She opened them and found both of them completely empty, nothing in there. But as she opened them a funny thing happened, she remembered everything.

It was suddenly clear to her that down there at the bottom of the hill was her home, that white house was her home, well it had been, because she now knew that it didn’t belong to her anymore, she had left all her possessions in there and ran away in a state of panic one day. She had left all things and struck by fear packed her memories, thoughts and beliefs in the old suitcases. All that stuff, what she thought about herself, the world, her family, her world all that stuff was in there. She had been right, they were the only things she had left, and they made her who she was. How could she possibly let go of them however heavy they were? Now that she remembered she started asking herself questions. Why had she done this? Did these voices make her do it? Where was she going? Why had she forgotten? There were many more, and as for the answers they were surreal, unexpected and so much fun. Though unexpected was also the glowing April sun, beaming so hard on her face that it forced her to her normal state. All was now back to normal and she couldn’t answer her questions anymore. There was not much to do and she convinced herself that she had made up the most bizarre set of events, which were rather stupid, I mean where would it lead anyway, and what the hell was she doing on top of the hill in a nightdress? She was the dreamy type, but this was too much. She went back to the house and forgot the whole incident.

And this is where our story begins. Because it kind of starts at the end. You see our character was so happy that day that when she awakes by some distant whispers one night a few days later she goes straight to the wardrobe, takes the two old suitcases, and walks down to the beach. She stands by the dark blue water and knows she is to leave them there. The water speaks to the bags. She has nothing to do with them anymore, she stands there feeling sad. She says farewell, gives her thanks because after all they seemed so real, she also excuses herself as she has been rather upset with it all and it has played its part very well, it sort of cared for her you could say. It took her all the way here. In the distance the stars blink in wondrous colors telling her of times ahead. It’s a powerful thing the sound of water. She feels the old bags’ sensations. As they spend year in and year out in the water, feeling the waves, feeling the power, feeling the currents changing with time, hundreds, thousands, millions, billions, trillions of existences of time, and her bags change, they become one with the water, they join the sea of change. She is done. Now silence. All is different, she knows and she doesn’t. She feels, feels, feels and feels, she laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs and laughs. She is the mystery, she is the joy.

So my love, what now? She is still by the beach, silence rules, and then she sparkles, or something sparkles. Exhilaration and she is for eons of time. At one point she prepares the tools for her next journey, she carefully choose her colors and textures, her tools and brushes. What will be? What is? Here we go… Deep inside, far beyond, way above, deep below what is her wish?

All that remains is her, her highest goal. Fire. Earth. Air. Water. She does want them again. But different. She is excited and understands what to do. To the drawing board. And she invents a new story. How far to take this? As far as you like. How far can she go? As far as you like.

How does she get there? However she likes. She is here. You are here.

There is nothing, nothing

So she waits And waits

And waits And waits

Waits Wait Wait

And wonders

what if this is it

There is all

And she is

So she is

She is

Is Is Is

The (No) End

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Lumi Mountain

Zu woke up before Mi this morning. Despite the alluring sun he felt uneasy. This was strange for Zu; sun was all he needed, so why the nervousness? He is not the worrying type, he leaves that to Mi. A dark cloud was coming over from the west, but that was certainly not it. He remembered having been woken up by a gentle but somewhat eerie and determined stroke on his wings during the night. It was a little green snake who had found its way into his dream. It was eager to communicate with him but vanished when he opened his eyes. He could still see its orange begging eyes staring into his as if to infuse his mind and heart with compassion.

In a place at this time a stone is deep in wonder. It can sense the difficult days ahead. The stream is not worried, it plays its music and feels the sun. The radiant sun encourages the light blue sky; and a few clouds tease the hills to wake up, informs it it’s time to play.

An old woman is coming out of her house. Lumi is her given name. Lumi wears a grey dress and has long silver hair tied back in a plait. She lives in a stone house; it’s a small home with one room and no window. A bed on the floor, a table, and a chair that is all. Her residence reminds her of her task. So does her dress. Lumi is brave and wise. Many centuries ago she was given a secret occupation, to protect children from the demons of Sans. These demons are dangerous, deceitful, and extremely clever and once they get hold of someone they will rarely let go. They come in different disguises and have been around since the beginnings of our history. They are especially dangerous between the years of 3 and 12. You see the demons take hold of the little ones during their inquisitive time, suck them into a demon world and do not let go until they are sure to accept it as their world. The cleverest and most evil thing is that, the demons of Sans have devised a language barrier so that the little ones will not be heard by the older ones and once they are old enough to be heard the youngsters are so angry and confused that they cannot express their views with clarity. And as thus are forced to accept the demon world as true. The demons disguise themselves in ropes of intelligence and power. Almost all can be had with their power. As thus they control the fate of many worlds.

Beyond the glorious appearances it is a very dark world they live in and Lumi knows that she is in danger too. No one must she speak to. No one must find her. Her house is surrounded by the renegade snake caves. The renegade snakes had arrived one by one from all corners of the land, were full of inside information and by now grown into quite a big congregation. They help Lumi find adequate individuals for the task. When times are too demanding, times like these, they must call for help, most likely from other spheres. The snakes are great helpers in this search. This is where Zu comes into the picture; he had been selected by the snakes. But only if he awoke to their dream message could he be of assistance to them.

Zu thought it was far too early to be awake and he took a stroll down to the river, the gentle sound of the water caressed him into slumber.  Zu dreams of Lumi Mountain. He sees a glorious place, luscious pulsating landscape. He sees deep green meadows with purple and orange flowers, pink rock formations and sapphire streams. Every part of the mountain is talking to him, whispering gently; come over, come closer. Zu can barely breathe, he wants this to last, he wants to remember every bit of it.  Gently, so as not to wake himself up, he takes a few steps and notices he is on the very top of the mountain. Below he sees a vast forest, stretching for miles and miles, then farmland and then a city.

He realises that in that city is where his beloved park resides. He feels a deep sorrow, an anguish so overwhelming that it makes him fall and roll, roll and roll down the hill into infinity.

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The Unedited cardboard boxes of an extraterrestrial: An Experiment

Tucked away, abandoned and forgotten in the attic of an old house on an island are seven cardboard boxes. They are the leftovers from someone’s existence. They say that if you open them they would speak to you in tongues undistinguishable to the human brain. These, we may or may not hear and many argue that it is best not hearing them at all. Most likely outcome is falling into a deep coma or ending up in the madhouse.

Before we continue, I must remind you that stories are highly influential, and also incomplete – it partly is so because they aren’t until you are. And for the same reason, they cannot be complete, to think that they can, is plain deception. You’ll find a wide range of variables, and you’ll do what suits you best, and for this story in particular I urge you to put your mind on stand by; it will only be an obstruction in the place we are departing to. Now lend me your hand and let’s explore this attic and its contents together.

We will call our mystery man Mr Exter.  Mr Exter was a very tall and attractive being with olive skin and big gentle hazel eyes. The wise comforting gaze was crowned by adventurous eyebrows and followed by a somewhat wonky smile and dimples with a life of their own, they seemed to appear as and when they liked – once stricken by this smile you are bound to forget any worries. He had spent most of his adult time in either the lab or a seminar room.

Though, as it happens, after years and years of working as a biology scientist and professor he came to the conclusion that he had to move on, no matter what. He had become obsessed by the workings of the human brain and had managed to dive so deep into the darkness that he had utterly forgotten why he had taken this route.  He had not a clue anymore what any of it would or should lead to. Nothing made sense. He had begun his career with a different ambition; to unveil the true essence of the human heart. He saw the heart as the most beautiful and enigmatic part of life. He would follow its rhythms, watch its colours and hear its beat no matter what he was up to; the heart was always there, in an ever evolving communication.   Wherever he turned it was cherished; in love, joy, damnation and grief. During his time of researching the heart Exter was so in awe, so careful not to disturb his mysterious organ, that he almost lost his position. His boss was unsure, if Mr Exter was, despite of his recommendations, a plain failure of a scientist, or if he just lacked the drive for this subject – he seemed irrational and clearly unfocused on results. But Mr Exter’s smile and ease gave him true moments of stillness, he could sometimes even feel the opening of another time frame, it was a bit like being under water but without the water. And being a scientist himself he started watching Mr Exter’s behaviour as part of his own research.

Then one day, while some colleagues made a too excellent project presentation on the workings of the brain, Exter transformed. That day in the 500 seat seminar room, he realised he was a chosen one. During the presentation he had jumped out of his body, leaving his heart behind, flown into a world full of clarity and knew exactly what it was he was meant to uncover. He had landed, taken the stage and been celebrated. Everything about it was sincere; the discovery was real, a journey into a new hemisphere of life, simple and natural. It was perfect, perfectly logical and explainable. But it wasn’t his chosen field, so he decided it was a calling.

From that day, Exeter and science was never the same again. Day in and day out he spent dissecting brains, reading from the explained to the unexplained, but mostly jotting his own ideas, he had an overwhelming feeling that he was unto a tremendous discovery. It was just a matter of getting the details, remembering what he knew from that day. when destiny spoke to him. Notes, magazines and books everywhere, in the lab, in bags, pockets, and his flat might as well be a paper rat’s nest. He didn’t have a car nor had he learnt to drive, the bus and walking journey to the lab was a new discovery everyday depending on what experiments he had been working on. He was sure that his unmatched marriage of the scientific and creative would be a break through to a level of science unprecedented on the planet before. No one had ever managed to shock scientific research from this angle with any credibility. If anyone could unlock the doors to the real mysteries of the brain, he would be the one.

But what started as a fresh and highly invigorating wind, with time became murky, and he slowly started suffocating by his own questions and ideas.  During the sleepless nights he’d gasp for a nip of fresh air, other times he was not sure he breathed at all. Following note was found in his lab: This is the end. I am shattering into infinite pieces. Breaking through the barrier to find out how lost I am.  This is torture. Why are these keys unlocking further distances? What?! Must I fall to find? Why on earth. I am losing it all. It’s a joke. Please, help me.

But he was too far off the path to get back on track. Therefore the only way  out was to let go of it all together. As we all know, it is easier said than done. He tried, but would have panic attacks when he told himself that he had to leave the lab at the end of the working day. He would walk around, a coffee, re-reading old notes, picking bits from the trash, anything as long as it meant staying past 11pm, and even better 2am. He couldn’t conclude this  research, he was too entangled, he knew that,  but the mere thought made him  shake in cold sweat. Eventually he grew very ill and spent days and nights in bed hallucinating. That was when she came into his mind. The image of his brain. Despise his excitement, he tried to dismiss it at first as mere hallucinatory loneliness symptoms, and he started recalling happenings from his youth before he started his career path. The image was just too real and kept coming back, each time he sensed it stronger. A woman dressed in a flamboyant yellow dress had come rolling down a mountain right down into a stream.  As she lay there, she laughed and laughed; he would get closer and when he looked into her eyes he knew, this was the end and this was the beginning, it was not a game anymore. He cried for days and days and days. And then he laughed.

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From Mi’s notes: A Dad Man

Park visitors say I am peaceful and others joyful. And on an occasion I was told that I can’t be real as I smile too much. Some think I am very dramatic. I have also heard someone say so gentle.

It’s strange to be separated from others by smiles, gentleness and drama. But then again, why not. Smile might be a place, or a creature. I must search the park for Smile. Maybe it lives by the parrot palace. Is Peaceful and Dramatic also here somewhere? I shall find them and let the scientist know so he can draw their symbols on the map.

I met a Dad Man once, he was painting a sign. This is for Children’s crossings, he said, and went on to tell me many things. There are separate beings called Children, Teenagers and Adults. They are taught by the Adults as they hold the keys of knowledge to surviving in society. Lumi from the Mountain was also talking about that, but that was something else. He said it was a bit like the animals but in a different environment, and more complex. And that what is dangerous in society may not exist in the wild and vice versa. For example, one mustn’t laugh at an other’s misfortune, he said, not sure what that had to do with the wild. The meeting left questions in my notes. Are they taught because they laugh too much? Jump around too much? Talk too much? Scream too much? Is that why teenagers’ ideas must be restrained and their feelings subdued? What is dangerous? He told me so many things; I must look for those keys later. Still the conversation makes very little sense to me. I do wonder if I need to be taught as well.

He explained that the Children need to be silenced from the start, because from day one they cry a lot. At first they get food, sleep, a cuddle or winding and so most often they stop. Practical life, he said, is bliss compared to what is to come. And then he got into muddy lands; he said it was complicated. Something about the terrible twos or was it threes, must check my notes, when it starts being aware of itself as a person and wanting to be selfish. Might be what starts the Adult teachings, the how to be selfish. He continued for a long time telling me about other things that happen as years go by. He spoke about the Teenagers for a long time too. They had to learn a lot of things about their emotions.

It is obviously obvious to me that we are different, not because of age, but all of everything and all is different. What boggles me is how can the Adult teach anything to the Child apart from, be like me, or don’t be like me. Both paths lead to more me and very little of the new selfishness. Is there only one accepted form of selfish for the Adult and Child to share? I am lost, when I find the place of traditions and society I shall seek the key of knowledge that the Dad Man spoke of.

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The extraordinary world of Mi and Zu.

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