1upm

[1upm]

Time flows like glaciers or like rapids. Over moments, over memories.

I feel like so much life has passed me by.

I haven’t fought off sharks in the ocean but I’ve raced down Death Roads. I’ve rafted down the Amazon River. I’ve churned sugar cane with tribespeople. I’ve hiked a pilgrimage on the trail of the Incan Sun Gods, surrounded by ruins and the highest altitude lake in the world.

I've ridden donkeys across the pampas and drank and sang with gauchos by firelight. Gotten trapped in blizzards hiking into the Andes.

I’ve had magic happen to me and around me in Paris, living under a windmill, in secret gardens with Alan Watts’ old friends, in secret bars, at secret performances by the river. I’ve watched a wall of fireworks off rooftops in Hong Kong. I’ve sat for dinner and private piano recitals in Havana with leaders of the Cuban government, and swam in the ocean, sleepless, with the first rays of sunlight, godly.

I’ve driven across America, meeting cowboys and drinking with rickshaw drivers, hiking out of darkness and by starlight from atop mountains and out of canyons. I’ve slept and dreamt at the palace from The Sound of Music, watching performances on the same piano Beethoven's father played, while firewood crackled and echoed.

I’ve danced in ancient cellars, and explored abandoned manors by violet twilight. I’ve been chased by fire-breathing demons in a small Spanish village, lay down with an entire crowd to watch them on high wires.

I’ve had the most popular show in South Korea dedicate an episode to me. I’ve fallen in love in a speakeasy in Seoul, and had old fortune-telling machines tell us about it. I’ve ridden waves just below the surface of The Mediterranean. Hiked with Old World sculptors named after Greek philosophers, slept in the studio of an artist-saint in Vienna, and had him tell me about his secret conversations with Rembrandt, and the meaning of chasing the sun.

I've watched, incredulous, as the creator of the Midnight in Paris soundtrack showed up unannounced and played it for us in a small room — at midnight, near the steps themselves. I’ve pulled into Las Vegas on a Friday night, blinding lights rising out of darkness, surrounded by glamour, covered head to toe in desert dust.

I’ve skated the Rideau Canal at 3am, path freshly cleaned and reflecting every dim lantern light, with old friends and no another soul in sight, just our wide swooping strides, blades crackling against ice. I’ve watched triumphant, arms-raised gold medal finishes front row at the Olympics. I’ve been caught in black sky thunderstorms riding the world’s largest tidal bore, and ducked into active lithium mines in the world’s highest city. I’ve gotten stuck in the Bolivian salt flats and slept in a salt hotel. On another continent I’ve played soccer with locals in the world’s most cavernous former communist salt mines 30 stories underground.

I’ve helped paint old cottages on Lake Como, and partied with Paloma Faith and the xx in a rooftop loft in London. I’ve had Keira Knightley stare into my soul. I’ve controlled the lights on top of the Empire State Building, and stood alone on top of the Eiffel tower. Listened to jazz front row in the living room of a Harlem music legend. I’ve hosted five weddings, and been a Best Man twice. I've been in the right place at the right time to wander euphoric, swarming, celebrating streets the night they became NBA, MLB, and World Cup champions, high-fiving strangers. I've schemed with space hotel architects and TED speakers in a 250 year old victorian mansion on Halloween. I've been caught between coyotes and LA riot police, circled by the spotlight of news copters. I created technology and filed a patent to fix the Internet and try to save the world. I raised a million dollars from the first investors in Twitter, media barons — the ones Succession was based on — and White House deputies.

I’ve eaten enough for 5 people just to reveal an old myth in Provence, with a chef literally out of the pages of Peter Mayle. I was a student council president orchestrated through a battle of the bands. I won a national competition not intended for me by predicting the future of work in the year 2040.

I did pushups to save a groom at a Majorcan estate, and closed the dance floor with fire breathers and belly dancers in Marrakech. I’ve heard thunder echo for a whole minute while walls shook. I’ve arrived at an international airport 45 minutes to departure and made it after racing through traffic from a Studio Ghibli island.

I’ve developed black and white film in dark rooms. I’ve been invited to convince one of North America’s top design studios to recreate the metaverse. I’ve been chased by police during G20 riots and hidden in the attic of a pet shop, while an earthquake happened and the caged birds sensed it before we did. I had a ghost touch me. In sleep paralysis a woman quietly and calmly told to me how the rest of my life will go — and when I moved she became static like a radio. I’ve had movie scripts and short stories appear in my mind, fully-formed. I've seen planes float like boats.

I’ve stood in top secret ephemeral factory hangars to critique full scale clay models of cars 5 years before the world knew they existed, stood in towering noise isolation chambers, and hitched a ride with strangers to get home. I've seen machines taken apart piece by piece like a real-world exploded diagram spread over 50 metres in underground halls where phones weren’t allowed, and walked along cavernous factory floors as fully formed vehicles rolled off.

I’ve found myself presenting to Germany’s leading news anchor, and being served a secret pasta recipe by the godmother of the German news service, and touring the New Yorker's headquarters. I’ve packed rooms at the world’s top journalism conferences and had Google executives spy on me.

I’ve had the founder of Second Life make me tell the story of Canadian engineering rings in the Stanford faculty lounge. I’ve had a world class circus juggler, from a touring circus family, try to teach me in MIT’s infinite corridor, and send pins flying millimeters from either side of my head.

I’ve been threatened with jail by crooked State Troopers. I’ve had absinthe out of an ornate crystal fountain in one of Paris’ oldest bars, just as Hemingway did, while the grandmotherly owners sang La Vie En Rose, waltzing with patrons around us — and then watched a drummer transcend in an old dungeon near Notre Dame.

I've found myself partying elbow to elbow with the President of Microsoft at a personal set by Kaskade at a Chalet in Davos, while being served truffle pasta on the dance floor, with a Prince Harry doppelgänger. I’ve read poems from this blog, on stage, at one of New York City’s most revered open mic music and poetry nights — and danced through the streets of Manhattan for hours as part of a silent disco flash mob pub crawl.

I’ve lost a game of Werewolf to the founder of Wikipedia. I’ve had drinks with 3 of the Five Guys. I’ve played a tennis tournament final on the next court over from Federer. I’ve taken a colour sensitivity test at Renault’s design studios. I’ve danced, unprepared, in front of an amphitheater of people wearing a king’s outfit at a historic Korean folk village. I’ve jogged for 10 minutes with wires attached to my chest and then had to hold my breath for a minute while my heart was scanned — and told it was beautiful.

I tried to convince NBA players to give me money. I’ve acted as a tour guide in 3 cities, including for one of America’s dynastic families — because a stranger invited me to their executive box at an NHL game in another city the next day. I’ve had lightning strike the highway in front of me. I had waves crash around me at dusk at Giant’s Causeway, and listened to Enya float over real Irish cheddar while rain battered the windows in Galway. I’ve seen iconic MC rap battles in chip shops in London and partied in hidden rooms behind a sandwich shop in DC.

I’ve hidden postcards from the universe all over the world.

I’m 35. A New year is almost here.

There is so, so, so much more to see and do.

Heartstrings vibrating, eyes smiling.

[1upm]

I watched the cars, rolling, stuck to the ground, upside down. I saw the buildings, low to the earth, buried and clinging. I saw neon signs and a strange language made for moving flesh. So it could heat up and want to buy things. I saw a dark night sky glowing. I couldn’t see the stars. We look inward under an infinite and microscopic dome. Frantic lives, imperceptible hesitations of a considered exhalation by the universe. Less than fleeting. And in it, I find everything. Everyone. All the equations and tensions and religions crying out to a god that our grandest dreams make into what is still a faint spark in a vast abysmal night. It feels like an idea around a corner just out of sight: even if we are so very small, we are also the future’s past. Inevitable and infinite. I can hear my own echo. Who can see it?

[1upm]

I could have been anybody Any body  writhing in its billion forms to be signed and stamped  under a lone star --

Instead I’m a vibrating string inside my mind and a surging wave before the rocks exploding I’ve felt these things rush through my body Breathing odd souls and other worlds Eyes tearing at the sharp corners I’ve been looking around Still searching Sweeping the inner orbit of soul and the outer edges of time Breathing heavy into fate’s burning embers Lighting me up in the shadows where I’m glowing up A dreamer of dreams Waking them up To be somebody

[1upm]

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A post shared by Nicolas Heller (@newyorknico)

When I tell people I love cities that have magic in them, this is what I’m talking about.

Soul-moments, popping up like miracles within an intricate, hypnotic chaos.

A poetry of circumstance.

On a platform. On a street corner. In an unsuspecting hole-in-the-wall joint. Anywhere.

Like the universe steeped this place in serendipity, conspiring.

Sacred flowers growing out of a concrete jungle. Getting lost and being found

In New York City.

[1upm]

If we weren’t so busy moving Spreading ourselves a thousand miles wide Our feet would hit the ground different Toes sinking in like majestic tree roots And we’d grow into far away galaxies Instead We would stand right into the sky! Like you're on thirty thousand foot stilts Like a beacon living in rolling clouds Swaying like a giant lost in prayer, seeing all Making shadows under which precious things grow just by being grounded We could be golden beings really being golden Seeing things we can’t see when they’re blurred Feeling things we can’t feel when we don’t hold on long enough Because of how fast and low and untethered We move Instead Know what’s it like To stand with your soul And see into infinite distances Washed over in sunlight and thunder Breathing it like you are godly And eternal instead

[1upm]

Transcendence is Feeling like universes are smashing Under your skin and sacred senses Inside of a single second Echoing infinity When cold shivers made of wonder overflow from warmth that’s flooding out of a black hole borne out of your hypnotized soul Into itself When electric waves are rising inside Shooting up your spine like velvet current Flowing into small smiles and closed eyes Swaying and nodding Like praying masses and thunderstorms rolling Time lapsed into flawlessly fluid motion Expanding and disappearing into each other Into you Like Godly secrets Roughshod running through you And stretching you from earth to sky Feeling it all

[1upm]

Bookend. A fear submitted by Aidan to Deep Dark Fears - thanks!

You can pick up signed copies of my DDF books in my Etsy store, they make neat gifts!

#comics #deepdarkfears

[1upm]

Let it flow Like you’re a vanilla breeze Like there’s jello in your knees Like you’re a warm wave rolling slow Kaleidoscoping the sun as you go So Move like a caramel flood Slip soothe like dead sea mud Eyes closed like sea grass swaying Like an infinite crowd gently praying Go Breathe like your soul is a thousand years old Deep and precious like ancient gold Like your heartbeat is coming from the earth’s core Radiating magma ready for eons more. Let it flow Like you are art in motion The deepest shade of blue Infinite and weightless Just like that.

[1upm]

Running like a morning star To protect who you are Glowing up the heavy dawn Leaving your light before you’re gone For a world that roars life And eats up the night Engine hearts wake up their cars Body weights swing hard Falling out of bed with open eyes Locked on you like fireflies And we’re all crackling Like fireworks at sunrise Dancing heavy against a blinding wall Shivering to outshine a fireball So you’ll find us simmering Coughing up dreams Moving parts shackled whole Whole bodies shaking out soul From spirit furnaces we shout Loudly burning out And in our eyes find us A universe on fire

[1upm]

My dear,

In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.

In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.

In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.

I realized, through it all, that…

In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.

Truly yours,

Albert Camus

[1upm]

How old were you when The world exploded into colour and potential? when your blood first pumped fire and unrealized passion. through a heart burning up for people and places like forever was happening in each instant. That age when you Explored the texture of life, Like Atlas, trying to look effortless. And dreamed in the day and every night like an addiction to your infinite self. What did it feel like To believe without anchors? to feel fury and love for the first time like fascinating wounds proudly earned recklessly explored with wide eyes for every detail. Where did the time go Like a river washing over sharp rocks making them refined yet undefined diluting memories with a generic flood and dulling senses with every cold wave. Washed up on the shore,  we forget to swim, drowning in depths,  we forget to breathe. So will you remember? to respect old fires reaching deep to pull at strings before the heart seizes up in an old world and you turn to stone in broad daylight. Instead of lava burning on riverbeds reshaping and expanding; shooting up to meet the blue sky and glowing every dark night.

[1upm]

“What is your definition of happiness?”

[1upm]

Shattering infinity and putting it together.  --

Playing with toys evolved into playing with ideas. Reflection became imagination. Ejected from the the mold, we were dropped into systems and structures, like finely forged insects suddenly trapped in resin. Bureaucracy, rules, definitions. Our destiny is to break them. Smashing everything we’ve ever known into millions of infinitesimal fragments that recombine into the unknown. We take what is, to make what isn’t. We begin to see the vastness of negative space. We begin to dream. -- The world’s greatest choose to drop from the sky to leap into space. The eternal pursuit of abandoning perfection. Completion as irrelevance. The phoenix burns alive so that it may be reborn forever. Self-cannibalization as existentialism. Business has never been better, but we must be true to what we pursue, for that is what made us great. Steve Jobs. Christoph Niemann. Grant Achatz. Relentless. --

Seeking. Thinking around corners. Juxtaposition. Perpendicular thoughts. Squinting at the light, clutching in the shadows. Hunting invisible game. Inspiration. A vague idea that becomes real, a curtain pulled away from the world, a stunning sliver of thought forking reality madly and beautifully in two, the old and the jarring new. Uncontrollably wide eyes, heart shivers and mind smiles. Realization. A thirst to change the world with an alchemist’s knowledge. --

It’s 2:30am and I’m in the upstairs bedroom of a cottage in the Romanian countryside. It started as a single-room slant-roofed tin shack 30 years ago. Persistence. Outside, thunderstorms are sending rolling thunder claps over the hills, lighting their silhouettes into perfect violet waves born violently in the pitch black darkness. Electric impulses pump Vivaldi into my mind, launching a swan dive into the shadowy possibilities. All the shattered infinities are coming together, new ideas like dust settling in the rattling night.

[1upm]

“Jazz Kissa is a form of culture unique to Japan. They refer to coffee shops where people sit and listen to jazz played on vinyl.”

[1upm]

I remember coasting on summer night roads that hummed in darkness. with windows down and warm air rushing into our eyes, whipping through our hair and brushing our faces. I remember cruising over empty highways under infinite lights passing.  Like metronome rhythms for the chevrons flashing, with that smooth feeling of flying in the dark. I remember feeling like we were taking a deep breath for the whole world. Like the rhythm pulsing through speakers was a heartbeat for our minds drifting and thoughtful in the shifting night. I remember the warm silence, woven into music that was loud, I remember floating in blue-dark space, cut fast and precise, while our eyes flickered like dreamers in motion.

[1upm]

where is your mind - is it lost over flickering cities in the blue-dark night? Is it caged in ideas about wrong or too right? Is it real foolish or brilliant or beyond its prime? is it caught on ideas or just lost in time? How is your mind - So reckless in dreams and careful in life, So petrified in love yet sharp as a knife? So still in your eyes and racing in mine, So eager to act yet standing in line? My mind - Is on your mind when you look about. I wonder about your mind, and finding it out. And if we dance, and you breathe slow, Your mind is all my mind, really wants to know. Your mind - I think it becomes my heart, that silly thing, standing apart. It swallows me up, turns me to stone with a burning core, deep in my bones. And then my heart - it beats, like a candle in the night flickering fierce, yet soft in your sight - throwing shadows on desire and doubt shivering with passion while burning it out. So Where is your mind - where is my heart - and are the answers just questions if they’re too far apart And searching between will we get lost in what’s true  wandering and wondering - Where are - you?

[1upm]

we stared into silence    we tested the night    we dared it to breathe it cut like a knife. - deep into minds sinking into dreams smooth swords breaking down immaculate kings swaying sleepless with unfolded wings. 

-- we awoke in the noise we drowned in the sight of soaking dreams glowing high in the night . vision spinning webs in the dark quiet cacophony an invisible spark . swaying our beds with infinite sound trapped in our heads and looking around. . . . and quiet 

and deaf the night became us. - so we ran. - we stormed into the rhythm hypnotized and head-on we shattered to pieces against a song and fragments flew like a sun in the night violently sudden beautiful flight. and in this rumble like a rough hand we trembled like infants covered in rust shrapnel hearts shaken to dust -    we were beautiful strangers lost in a dream shivering and senseless bursting at the seams . but strung together in an abyss in an undercurrent of tones our heads spinning and life brimming out of bare bones. -   so we became light we became sound alone and together kaleidoscope beings lost inside found.