If we can’t break through the spell in reality, we should try to break free through fiction.
Let’s imagine a fantasy world! I will give you some coordinates. Any resemblance with reality is a coincidence. This new world can have any shape or be on another planet, in another dimension… it’s up to you.
You are children of the future.7 generations ahead.
You live in a world tormented by incessant amnesia.
History is getting erased.
All that you have come from, everything that happened before you, is slowly fading into oblivion. What are you without your legacy? Do we need a history?
The floating ancestors
storytelling my work
The I does not exist
If the I does not
Find the story covered in dust
at the back of the bookshelf
Stories emphasise perspectives
Angel dust touching people
No memory, no pain?
Telling these stories
keeps us alive
If the world has total amnesia
Grey will be empty
the hope, children like you and I
Will dance and scream
Warrior saving and cherishing
It in the movements
the certain way we unconsciously
develop a tipping point
That moment we choose
we have a choice
No memory, no pain?
Who benefits from a world
without a memory
Retelling and recolouring
is nothing without recollection
Hollow heads with no desires
Children show their courage
The games we play now
Light up curiosity
Erase the memory
inherit the guilt
The world is the conflict
the natural world
is the past
What if flowers
are an old message
a lady bug
to the empty space
in between the plant
love in code
The guilt is felt
seeing the wounded sea
The concrete cracks
under the prism of rainbow
is the foresight
triggered by the taste of dream
praying to the pepper
the body changes it’s paint
The inner strength
creating a line with ancestors
Where power inhabits influence
if the gift of colour
does not cover the physical fantasy
No memory, no pain?
under the prism of the rainbow
we create the physical fantasy
Maybe they remember things when the others throw an object true there hollow heads
they discover they can lift up whole buildings
Imposter syndrome amongst shapeshifters 🙂
is it poison turned good?
Or a little bit of magic that erupted through the cracks of some cement garden?
They’re body exist out of jelly pudding I mean . You can see there organs ( ore something like organs)
made of the same soil
a seed of something new in a sea of uniformity
we lost our pigment
that needs a little water to transform
A hollow head with a slurf
with a grey crust
With the uniformity, is there gender?
What do the children of the far future look like?
Maybe they taste with there slurf
where is salt?
Where is pepper?
Umami Moments are purple.
Without a past, they would have no need of forgiveness – our tool for undoing the fixed nature of the past — nor promises, our tool for undoing the uncertainty of the future.
Maybe there head is a wormhole
curious surprise at every corner
The warmth of a hot pepper soup in a grey world.
Maybe they eat only jelly pudding in funky colors. With objects in it
They taste the rainbow
The wind that sounds like an accordian, the rain that twangs like a banjo.
Sort of seahorses that play trompet sounds. They float in the sky
Clouds who gives them a certain feel
Nature is patient. It brings rainbows every now and then to bring beauty rythm
In where they can travel true to move on the planet
Seeds of the colorful past sprouting in the grey soil of the present. Guilt like weeds sapping their nutrients.
maybe holding the colour in too long causes the children to spontaneously bleed colours around them, on everything
Maybe the trees look like wormholes
shouting through the cracks in the pavement
maybe a ladybug looks like a shocking splash of colour?
Maybe everything looks hollow
The world punishes them with winter and rewards them with spring
make them forget their colourful insides
The seduction of amnesia and the desire for uniformity may tempt the children to remain the same.
the inside out
need to shake it all about
need to shout
need to jump
ruled by a system
Those who seek change are those who have no other choice. The inevitable.
Something like the Borg in Stertrek.
those ruled by fear
Those who are content with the ignorance.
The children want charge.
Who seeks change in this world?
· Beantwoorden ·
Big snail houses
Little boxes made of ticky tacky and they all look just the same
Like the wizard of oz — black and white in the grey places, vibrant colors where the stories have passed through.
Maybe they have a lot of confession chairs . When they sit they are forgiven
Ivory towers, sandswept shores.
and their hollow heads above
The weight of the world on their shoulders
you feel it
Their history is storen in their body. That ‘s how they remember.
because they let go of the burden and they are free
They play memory
or do they have the possibility to see beyond pain?
Not all the ancestors are a safe place, there are places of the past we don’t feel we belong. there are no colors there.
They forget when they eat, like gold fish . So they are super big . If they eat in the first place..
Who benefits from a world without history? The powers that benefit from the perpetual now, the disconnection from the past and future.
Recolouring requires a personal sacrifice.
were we so guilty we decided to forget all>
Maybe there heads are hollow, like a bowl.because they don’t need brains
Contagious colors passed forward with the stories of those untold moments of time, along with the power to retell and recolor.
Stories are untold moments of time, that we don’t pay attention to, small children seeking attention
The color rebels in a grey world
or do we highly developpe our intuition? The greatest wisdom of all?
We have hollow souls
Poem by: Jörgen (Unom) Gario | Drawing by: Stella de Kort
The plot is in your hands.
Please finish the story. Write to us, send images, films:
What happens to the characters? Do they manage to create a revolution? Use the comments below or share on Instagram or Facebook with the #rehearsingtherevolution