Historias de Surrealism

A corridor that eats. A boy who cries for others. A girl made of clocks. Two teenagers wake in a living hallway that feeds on their pain. One feels everything. One feels nothing. Both are breaking. Stitched eyes. Ticking skin. Walls that breathe. Memories that leak. They've met 100,000 times before. They don't remember. They'll meet 100,000 times again. They won't forget. This is not a love story. This is a digestion.

"اليقظة هي الجحيم الذي أُجبر على العيش فيه.. أما الأحلام، فهي موطني الحقيقي." بالنسبة لـ (رين)، الواقع ليس سوى ضجيج مزعج, تنمر في الأروقة، دراسة باهتة، وعالم مادي يفتقر للروح. لكن خلف جدران غرفته المظلمة، وفي اللحظة التي يغمض فيها عينيه، يبدأ عالمه الحقيقي بالتجلي. بموهبة "الحلم الواعي" الفائقة، لم يعد رين مجرد نائم، بل أصبح المسافر الذي كسر شيفرة الواقع. عبر ثغرات الـ "Noclip"، ينزلق من سريره ليجد نفسه في ممرات لا تنتهي من السجاد الرطب، تحت أضواء فلورسنت تئن بطنين كهربائي لا ينقطع.. لقد وصل إلى الباكرومز. ولكن، كلما تعمق في مراحل هذا العالم الغريب - من غابات الـ Dreamcore ذات الألوان الزاهية والمقلقة، إلى المدن المهجورة التي تسكنها ذكريات طفولته المشوهة - يبدأ في فقدان شيء ما. هل هو هوس بالجمال السريالي؟ أم هو فخ ذهبي صممه عقله ليمنعه من العودة للأبد؟ بينما يطارد رين سر "المرحلة النهائية"، يكتشف أن الخروج من الحلم قد يكون أصعب بكثير من الدخول إليه، وأن "الكيانات" التي تسكن تلك الفراغات ليست هي الخطر الأكبر.. بل رغبته هو في البقاء هناك إلى الأبد. لماذا يجب أن تقرأ هذه القصة؟ تجربة بصرية: وصف دقيق ومثير لجماليات الـ Liminal Spaces والـ Backrooms. صراع نفسي عميق: استكشاف لخطورة الهروب من الواقع والإدمان على الأحلا

Unreality is a mysterious phenomenon that appears to take place when mentally unstable individuals project the contents of their subconscious onto reality, distorting the very fabric of space and transforming the surrounding environment into a perilous mindscape which reflects their innermost thoughts and feelings. An organization was created to deal with such incidents, and Virgil is one of its agents. He keeps a carefully cultivated solitary lifestyle, but his self-inflicted isolation is challenged when he meets Ariadne, a girl coping with sorrow and grief after the loss of her twin brother. The two begin to form a bond, but as Virgil comes across more and more cases of unreality, his own psyche starts to unravel, forcing him to confront his own mental scars and deep-seated feelings of alienation.

In the quiet, federally-approved suburb of "The Gardens," Eli Peterson's life is a masterclass in predictability. He wears the same khaki uniform, drinks the same instant coffee, and pressure-washes his driveway with a devotion that borders on the religious. In a world of gray-beige houses and identical mailboxes, Eli is safe. Eli is normal. But Jennifer, the woman at 416 Evergreen Lane, is an anomaly. Jennifer is a cartographer of places that don't exist. Armed with a brass theodolite and shimmering parchment, she maps the "Subliminal Sea" and the "City of Forgotten Names" right across Eli's manicured lawn. When the boundary between Eli's mundane reality and Jennifer's impossible territories begins to "glitch," Eli is forced to confront a devastating truth: his perfect life might just be a gilded cage, and the woman he's drawn to might be the very system designed to keep him inside. In a reality where every sunset is programmed and every lawn is a lie, can you ever truly find the edge of the map?

[a cpn/novel] in a town small enough to remember every face, spring arrives like a quiet confession. the air softens first, carrying the faint sweetness of cherry blossoms that bloom along narrow streets and crooked sidewalks. petals drift lazily, collecting in corners, on parked cars, in the still water of a winding creek that cuts through the heart of everything. by evening, the sky melts into shades of rose and gold, and for a fleeting moment, the entire town glows-washed in a delicate pink that feels almost unreal. it's the kind of place where time slows without asking, where memories linger in the spaces between trees and telephone lines. the creek reflects the sky so clearly it looks like the water itself has turned pink, as if the town is quietly bleeding its own stories into it. people say nothing ever really changes here-but in spring, something always does. beneath the blossoms, beneath the soft light and gentle warmth, something stirs. old feelings resurface, secrets rise like ripples, and the past begins to blur with the present. in a town that seems frozen in beauty, the truth moves quietly-like water, like petals, like the slow turning of a season that refuses to stay still. and once it begins, nothing stays untouched.

Some frequencies are meant to remain dead air. It is October 1998, and Arlo Banks is suffocating in a purgatory of yellowed plastic, stale marijuana smoke, and the claustrophobic sub-basements of Channel 8. As a night-shift archival assistant and a functional burnout, Arlo escapes his mundane reality by abusing heavy strains of marijuana and diving deep into early internet lore and urban legends. When his passive-aggressive manager writes him up for unauthorized napping, Arlo retaliates by raiding a condemned sub-basement and stealing a sealed box of VHS tapes. He hopes to unearth a profitable piece of lost media to boost his reputation on the message boards. Instead, he brings home a biological puppet. The tapes contain The Happy Hollows, a rumored "Holy Grail" of lost media. But the broadcast does not stay on the screen. The footage begins to mimic Arlo's reality on a delay-a delay that is rapidly shortening. Arlo initially relies on the "Stoner Defense," rationalizing the bizarre events as weed-induced paranoia, hallucinations, or an elaborate prank. But the physical world begins to rot. His environment mutates into a tactile nightmare of "Damp Plush". Glass softens into gelatin , blood thickens into strawberry preserves , and human flesh takes on the texture of distressed velvet. Hunted through infinitely stretching hallways by a towering mascot named Uncle Corduroy and a swarm of Clay-Kin, Arlo must navigate the collapsing boundary between reality and the broadcast. He has to sever the signal before the frequency overtakes him entirely, transforming his own anatomy into polyester stuffing and rusted wire.

Reality decays.

A vile entity, burning with hatred, lurked in the quiet island town, craving the flesh of its peaceful residents.

What follows here is an anthology of poetry spanning a major transitional period of my life, beginning with the first one I wrote. From casual observations, to heartfelt love poems, to the depths of my journey with depression, my internal struggles with religion, and settling into my exploration of surrealism and aesthetic, this is what I have to offer of my soul. // Oh to be an atom, beholden to it all, I hope you find something in my writing, and godspeed in your journey through the stars. // Cheers and a thousand blessings, Michayla [trigger warning: brief references to suicide/self harm in "Musings Of A Caged Bird"]

A really short novel by Jaume Muñoz DRAMATIS PERSONAE The room He His umbrella His piece of charcoal Nobody else

A sublime confession how love for a man can sometimes be one sided and that in order for it to prosper, one must carry on why thinking of thoughts that will leave an abstract hole between reality and spirituality. How each word spoken are melted plates of gold that will never glaciate, and will only live on as a dream. an abstract longing, incurable and dispiriting. Thinking simply of thoughts, one must weight the heaviness of such emotion amidst the crisis of change.

The vague story of how a Clown who had dreamed of becoming something less, rather than more.

Nothing is scarier than reality.

La mente es maravillosa.

Everyday life, the past and its relics called memories Surrealism of what we remember and how we feel Start 20.10.22

Arlo has a recurring nightmare: the man on the moon is hunting him down. One summer night, he steps into the twilight zone. - To Night is a surrealistic horror anthology of poems that tell the story of an insomniac who finds himself alone in their neighborhood during a blackout.

There is another dimension beyond that which is known to fictional characters. A collection of short stories, poems, snippets, vignettes, and everything else that crosses my mind and has no place in my current publications, or is waiting in the wings to find its forever home. Here is either where ideas are born, or where they go to die. We will be cruising at an altitude of morally dubious. The time is lost. The weather is sarcastic with a high chance of misdirection. Please, sit back, fasten your seatbelts, and enjoy the ride. Just know, there will be turbulence, and there is a shortage of chairs.

Kolik je třeba ke štěstí? Musíme mít opravdu všechno, abychom byli konečně někdo? Co je vlastně šestí? Nikdo se ocitá na rozcestí své životní stezky. Musí zažít možné i nemožné, aby našel smysl bytí.