gulaman-writes

[gulaman-writes]

Entry 2 || . Gulaman_Writes

Written by ataei, Designed by riemel

[Side note: Images used are either from Canva or Pinterest]

In the young month of February, a realization most insulting struck me, resounding within like church bells in the distance on a windy Sunday. The intrusion was as follows: “the sky is falling.” It was very much ominous and quite bewildering to have come across this thought so suddenly and at such a nondescript time and date, but somehow it felt almost like a news headline from a shady organization—a sort of prophecy dictated within a single strip of paper encased in a brittle cookie. And so I set my gaze upon the heavens, the very expanse purported to be the harbinger of the end of the world. There was nothing special about the sky. It was as blue as any other day with fine weather. In fact, such an observation allowed me to entertain the idea of a leisurely stroll, but not so leisurely as to uproot the realization planted upon my mind. As the sun dipped down according to its meticulous by-the-second schedule, the moon slowly shifted into view. It was like a pearl of the most select oyster. Dazzling, bright, cold. The weather’s temperament quickly yielded to a cool ambience as everything got darker, but not too dark as it was all well-illuminated by that eye suspended in the sky. That night, though silent, left me tossing and turning in bed.

A month passed by, and the horizon felt “closer,” as if the entire world was being crushed into itself. The peculiar thought that perched on my mind shook itself out of the ground from which it was buried under other matters that were more pressing to my past iterations. Now, everything seems so erratic and looming. What was meant by the sky falling? Was the Earth’s atmosphere literally going to collapse onto the surface of the crust? If so, why and how? If not, what else could it possibly mean? As I had no way of possibly averting an event of this scale and magnitude, I resorted to paying it no mind. Which was all a lie, as these thoughts continued to circulate around in my brain as I went by my daily life. The fact that I had no plan made it even worse, despite my acknowledgement of the sheer impossibility of devising such a course of action effective against the nearing flattening of everything I held dear.

As spring came and went, I was met with the idea that this might possibly be the culmination of everything I had been expecting, awaiting, dreading. It is simply impossible. Perhaps I could have done something to at least mitigate whatever chaos ensues but I have done nothing and now my actions will bear fruit. I had been inconsistently convincing myself that it will pass and any preparations I make will be of little effect compared to whatever I will do on the actual event itself, but I had also been convincing myself that I need to do everything in my power to stop this, so in the end, I was left in a state of paradoxical paralysis. The sky is falling.

I cannot see the sun. In fact, I cannot see anything at all. My entire view started getting dimmer and dimmer until I couldn't make out anything, even after shining a flashlight directly into my left eye at a distance of 0.0024cm away from the cornea. I slept, or at least I think I did. That is what I had experienced until only a few moments ago. From the moment of my awakening, it appears as though the cycle of day and night is eternally suspended at twilight. I cannot say whether or not it is after dawn or before dusk, but the light, or rather the lack thereof, has been a nuisance to deal with. Electricity operates as normal—in fact, I cannot discern anything quite different about the world compared to how it was before, except for the fact that the sun will no longer rise, nor will it set. Is this how it will be, indefinitely?

There is a new phenomenon that I have observed; it is extremely infrequent—I have only ever experienced it happen twice over the “summer”—and I have yet to find a pattern as to when or where it happens, nor do I have an explanation as to why it happens, though I will describe it in detail to the best of my abilities.

The phenomenon itself is preceded by a sudden appearance of some sort of tricolored fireflies, usually in sets of 7 or 8 insects per appearance, within a 5 meter radius. Approximately 15 minutes after the initial appearance of the fireflies, there will be a sudden cracking sort of sound from an indiscernible source, but the sound itself isn't uncomfortable. After which, blotches of daytime sky will appear to glide across the starless “sky” like droplets of oil floating on water. This will last around an hour, before all mentioned peculiarities will dissipate.

Something seems so hopeful about these occurrences—it’s as if the world is slowly returning to normal with each one, although I cannot say for sure.

I'm aimless.

End.

[gulaman-writes]

Entry 1. by ataie

hope is a mirage in the desert

an oasis for the eyes

hope is a hallucination

brought about by lies

hope is desperation

clinging onto desire

hope is delusion

fuzzy borders and lines

hope is determination, illusory,

motivation, deceptive, inherent, despair,

and most of all, hope is indifferent. ||

[gulaman-writes]

Entry 1. by ataie

hope is a mirage in the desert

an oasis for the eyes

hope is a hallucination

brought about by lies

hope is desperation

clinging onto desire

hope is delusion

fuzzy borders and lines

hope is determination, illusory,

motivation, deceptive, inherent, despair,

and most of all, hope is indifferent. ||

[gulaman-writes]

idk man. i just think itd be really cool if sign language classes were mandatory throughout primary school. yeah because it would make communication with deaf kids and autistic/nonverbal kids much easier. and those kids would be accessible to the others so they could make friends and have healthy relationships. yeah. and kids would eat that shit up man. like their own little secret language? they love that.

[gulaman-writes]

Because when life hits us in a manner that could break a bird's wings, we are left with our feet to grit onto the ground to continue forward. Sometimes it's not a matter of "why do we prefer" to crawl, it's more of a concern with whether or not we can still fly. Sometimes we don't, we can't choose who we are and what happens in our lives. But here's the thing: we can only choose how we go about it. And it'll always be better to crawl, to toil on land arduously, to walk in broken heels and bleeding soles with a passion for life than to wait for wings that'll never heal. We don't prefer to crawl on bloody thorns, but sometimes that's our only choice in order to survive.

“You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?”

— Rumi

[gulaman-writes]

“Dreams are simply a metaphor for words reality could not describe.”

[gulaman-writes]

—From Style Over Meaning: A Letter to Art Analysts

[gulaman-writes]

Entry 1. by ataie

hope is a mirage in the desert

an oasis for the eyes

hope is a hallucination

brought about by lies

hope is desperation

clinging onto desire

hope is delusion

fuzzy borders and lines

hope is determination, illusory,

motivation, deceptive, inherent, despair,

and most of all, hope is indifferent. ||