thealchemies

[thealchemies]

Abstract minds

Thirty Seconds To Mars - Short story made from the group's song titles.

This is a short story I wrote several years ago. It could be an idea for a future video project. In the same style as the “Hurricane” video from 2010. I wrote this three years ago before my 18th Birthday.

  This is my story I’m about to tell. A short story, the story. It was dark that night and I had to accomplish the mission. For that, I needed to penetrate a brand new world that I called the fantasy, and that I knew nothing of. I walked through a crystal, dark tunnel. The hesitation and anxiety made it feel like 93 million miles long. Though, there was a guide who accompanied me. He said no word and left soon before I got to the end of the tunnel. The only thing I remember him mumbling was “welcome to the universe. This is year zero”.

I opened my eyes after having shut them the whole way. I looked around and saw nothing: I was in oblivion and sensed I may be on the edge of the earth.

I walked further on, past the surrounding thick mauve mist and started to observe things: I saw 100 suns in the orange, blue, red and purple skies. I felt like as if I had fallen into my own imagination for it felt like a beautiful lie, a beautiful fiction, but it was all real. Inside me was a great war, it was a battle of one, a war of opinions, almost Manichean: the imaginary feeling and reality. The second one grew bigger, stronger like a vox populi; and finally found victory.

From yesterday, I was a new being with everything I was discovering. I was a stranger in a strange land.

I was living a modern myth, all though I actually had no idea if it was modern time, no idea of time at all.

I walked further and further, and soon noticed changing of the climates and temperature: it was now extremely cold and enormous clouds of yellow and green smoke hastily faded in above my head. They were clouds. Despite the abnormal phenomenons that were going on around me, I kept on walking, focused and looking forward.

There were great, violent waves ahead, in a grey and dark black sea. I then saw a giant hurricane whose size would have appeared unbelievable. It was charging over the surfaces, changing colour like a machiavelic jinn, unleashed.

It was now slowly moving towards me and I realized the waves were no longer in movement and that I was scared. I tried to stop walking and looking away or raising my hand above my eyes but in vain. My bare feet were moving forward, unstoppable like the hands of time and I could only shut my eyes.

  I then anxiously opened them again as the hurricane and I were getting closer. To my surprise, I was walking on water, a very soft indeed, yet solid water. Just as I almost collided with the size less tornado, it suddenly stopped and descended the solid sea, leaving a spiral formed hole instead. I still did not stop walking though, and finally found myself walking into it. During my fall, I screamed, I yelled, I laughed, I cried; but no sound came from my mouth. I had been falling longer than I ever had before and had time to look around me. On the sides of the old tornado, I could perceive thousands of eyes, big and small, but all looking at me. As the hole grew narrower, pictures and moments of a younger person appeared who seemed to be getting older as the spiral grew shorter. I finally recognized myself and found that these pictures stuck in time around me, were only my negative moments and souvenirs.

The spiral was now getting even more constricted around me. The sides of the hole were getting even nearer to me and the bad, melancholic memories of mine just faded away, unveiling my more glorious and happier memories.

The bottom of the hole was the smoothest floor I had ever known and parachuted my fall.

I was completely surrounded by the deep, hollow walls and could barely move. All of a sudden, they turned red as I started to panic and I then heard a mighty voice coming from both behind and in front of me: “You are here finally. You have long been awaited by us. Do you know who you are? …You are our saviour… You will now be named Capricorn (a brand new name)”.

His, hers or its words struck me like thunder and I felt a strange feeling inside. The voice then commenced again: “You will now be introduced to my world. …Your world… Welcome to the universe.”

The walls then simply disappeared and a dazzling blue light shone in my eyes.

I discovered a new and strange environment with transparent sand dunes, golden beetles flying around my head, dark blue and purple rainforests, pink rivers, huge algae coloured rocks and much more that I can’t even describe. This was a paradoxal topo. There was no civilisation and the only trace of knowledge I could see was a strange shaped graving under my foot. I knelt down to see and it looked like “R-Evolve”.

I could not see any people; no men nor women, no kings and queens, I extremely wanted to escape for all this vast, open space and its possessions were astonishing and shocking me. But soon, my soul was brought to a calmer state of mind as I looked at the silky flowing pink water. My eyes followed it in the reverse direction of the currant, taking my look to the source of the river. At the very top of this river I could see nothing, except for thirteen columns of all sizes and colour.

The three tallest ones in the middle, seemed to be holding a giant pink ice cube. A          giant ice cube of the same colour as the river. The ten other columns were split around the tall trio, in two groups of five.

Dragged by some sort of curiosity and euphoria, I approached these 13 strange totems and noticed that all the “water” that was running down the stream was coming from this huge ice cube. For, the ice cube was melting. And each drop that it shed, was enough to fill an empty lake.

Mesmerized by all of this, I then woke up, all of a sudden and looked toward the nearest column. I walked towards it and found, close up, that there was a door at its base. After a short moment of hesitation, I went to lay my hand on it. But at that moment, my eyes lit up, as the door handle shone a dazzling light. In one second, I was blind and could see nothing.

  Then.. my eyes slowly adapted to the change of light as I could start to see, small runes, and shapes. Everything that I saw was simplified reality: there were no colours. Just black and white.

White, was how I could see everything. Black, was the “colour” that separated the different shapes that I saw.

As I looked at myself, I was surprised to see that my body resembled that of an uncoloured cartoon.

I raised my hand under my eyes to notice that I had no fingerprints, no creeses

    Michael James Hall     29?/04/10

[thealchemies]

I need a woman in my life. Someone to rest my thoughts on. Even when I'm alone, I still think of her and reminisce on the times spent together. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Maybe I purposely inflict suffering thoughts to myself to grow richer and wiser. Or maybe it has become something of a habit, a drug I try to run back to.

[thealchemies]

Sans titre. Tu es ta propre prison.

Et toi qui débutes dans cette vie, sais-tu qui tu es? Si oui, j’aimerais te poser tellement de questions. Car si tu sais y répondre, tu conduis avec de beaux phares. Tandis que d’autres s’aventurent sur des routes de cdampagne avec une chandelle à la flamme oscillante. C’est la réalité pour bon nombre d’entre nous. Nous avons aujourd’hui tellement de possibilités, que nous n’en avons finalement plus. Comme un cheval auquel on aurait ôté les caches des yeux. C’est tout un monde qui s’ouvre loin ou près de notre vue. Pourquoi rester, à labourer les paturages, quand on peut galloper? Mais pourquoi aussi vagabonder, quand on a une place plus ou moins sûre, où l’eau et la nourriture sont régulière?

On voit les autres tirer de la vie mille richesses, matérielles comme imatérielles, et inconsciemment on les envie. Pourquoi rester ici et se forcer à farie ce que l’on ne désire pas quand tant d’autres y échappent. Pourquoi toi? Pourquoi moi?

Et la réponse se fait presque spontanée et mécanique: pour l’argent, pour vivre. Boire son café le matin, manger son bol de céréales ou ses tartines à prix discount, et partir avant le lever du soleil au devoir. Un devoir et pas une envie, pour beaucoup. Mais que diront-ils [...]

2015

[thealchemies]

Untitled. Vivre

Je n’attends qu’une seule chose de la vie, c’est de vivre. J’ai l’impression d’avoir été tapis dans l’ombre pendant trop longtemps. Tel un oiseau dans une cage, elle-même posée dans une chambre sombre.

Comment imaginer ce qui se produit à l’extérieure? Et même, en le contemplant à travers une fenêtre, l’image suffirait-elle? Dotés d’au moins cinq sens, nous nous devons de pouvoir en jouir, et concevoir toute la magie, les sons, les odeurs et les sensations d’autres espaces.

Mes poumons ont besoin d’être remplis de cet air exotique et je dois découvrir qui je suis, et vivre pour cette personne seulement. Car je ne suis né pour aucune autre. Il faut que j’arrête de vivre pour les autres et ne pas laisser leur jugements peser sur mon être. Et pourtant le monde est si superficiel, le monde suit des algorythmes et n’aime pas les fleurs qui poussent là où on ne les attend pas.

J’aimerais vivre hors du jardin aux couleurs unies. Trouver des pigments de vie et de terres inconnues. Mais je ne suis qu’un homme et me suis toujours accroché à ce que j’ai connu. L’envie parfois me tente du bout de son doigt, de tourner la page sur mes proches, sur l’environnement dans lequel je survis.

Mais la conscience me surprend, et claque sévèrement des doigts près de mes oreilles, me traitant de lâche, et me retend violemment le rationnel.

Tout ce que je connais de ma personne est ce que je possède et ce que j’ai vécu. Le petit garçon qui a toujours rêvé, le regard distrait, et qui on a traité bien trop de lunaire et remis dans sa boîte.

J’ai peur de tout laisser s’éfiler à travers mes doigts, tel des grains de sable. Mais la vérité que je ne connais pas pour sûre est qu’il y a des dunes entières qui n’attendent que d’être gravies, des gravillons retenues pas la gravité seule. Et la gravité de mon immobilté ne fait que se clarifier.

La vie dans son idéal n’est-elle pas franchir de nouvelles frontières, rencontrer de nouveaux visages, et leur dire à tous qu’on les aime?

Love won’t pay the rent, and yet I wish so much that it would. Vivre une vie simple de sourires et d’eau fraîche. Je le désire tellement que j’en pleurerais.

Les chaussures que je porte ne sont pas à ma taille, je ne les ai pas choisies, et je préfèrerais marcher les pieds nus.

2015

[thealchemies]

Serum (your substance)

Smoke me, smell me, love me, breathe me in.

Let me float and slither, under your skin.

Fear not temptation, fear no evil. I am your sin.

Dare explore and share with me, your secrets within.

February 2016

[thealchemies]

Nightmares are the thoughts that hide away in the darkest corners of the room and come out at night, crawling into your dream, the more you fear & think of them.

14/02/16

[thealchemies]

Shapes of the random.

People are, and always have been fascinated by geometry. The shapes and figures let them believe that they were meant to be. Because people like order, and structure. And why not? It should prove logically the thought that one puts into his or her work. It sets their minds at ease to think that this square and that circle are at their right place. But beauty is also in the disorder of things and life. Covering a piece of art up with leaves and then letting it be discovered by a wanderer. That is also beauty. The dimension of randomness, that can have people believe in things such as fate or destiny and the mergence of time and space. And that is one other: belief.

Early February 2016.

[thealchemies]

Running in the mist.

And there I was, running in the dark, trusting my instinct and praying not to awake any sharks.

Echoes of crumbling trees ahead, as if pushed from some bodiless force.

Wherever I walked, colours fled from my path and invisible horses galloped along side me. 

There were souls that depended on different wave lengths, scavenging on whatever colours were left in the irises of dark wandering cats.

And there I was, burning in the abyss, waiting to meet another light walker.

[thealchemies]

I heard you, churchbell, singing out on Sunday morning. Calling out to redeem us all, like a thousand broken promises ringing through the frozen air. I heard you, marching feet, stamping out the cold. Puddles and polished boots. The pride of a nation. I heard you, silent moments, reflection, reverence, romance. I heard you, eyes turned down to stare at the ground. Grey skies, grey concrete. I heard you, hand on heart, pounding out the rhythms of freedom. I heard you, collection-tin shake. I heard you, folded flag on coffin draped. I heard you, mothers’ tears on fresh graves falling, salt for soft earth. I heard you, flowers growing. We are short out-breaths, brief exhales in an infinite ocean of sorrow. Carried on the waves, we are left like grains of sand on silver beaches, bathed in the light of the stars’ loose shining. This town doesn’t need heroes, we just need hope and hard work.

giraffevader - White poppies (via giraffevader)

[thealchemies]

Come and confide in my hidden world of beats & frail symphonies.

This is the playlist I put together for my upcoming first radio program.

[thealchemies]

The snowflake.

A flake of snow prances lightly through the wind, like a stallion running against cold, rainy days. The breezes blow irregularly, like the flame of a candle, disturbed and hesitant. Nevertheless the flake carries on, through icy, through warm and mild currents. Dropping slightly at times but pushing forward. Through the currents it travels not alone, and sometimes sweet scents from far away pass by and tickle it’s being. It is grateful and drafts to know more, but they disappear. Along its way down, the flake often shakes and trembles. But it is not out of chill, fear or sadness. It is from the warmth of melodic vibrations that breathe through it, lifting and pulling it up with them in their rise. Thus the snowflake’s setting and sailing are prolonged, little by little. The cold breezes slow it down from melting and the warm musical vibes push it up higher, preventing it from falling too soon, keeping it’s path and horizon wide. Everything happens for a reason. The good, the bad, the cycles, the seasons. After every cold night, there is a warm sunrise.

11/10/15

[thealchemies]

Je marche seul.

Je marche dans les rues. Je vois un tas de visages qui me sont et me restent inconnus. Je marche pourtant, sans me soucier d'eux. Même s'ils ont probablement un nom, un cœur.

Ils marchent. Des yeux, me scrutent. Peut-être se posent-ils le même problème.

Pourtant nous marchons, sans se soucier les un des autres. J'aimerais aller vers eux, et leur dire mon nom, leur montrer que j'ai un cœur. Pourtant nous continuons à marcher, à suivre la même direction, sans s'adresser parole. Si ce n'est un « bonjour », heureux et très sincère.

J'aimerais leur dire, vous dire à tous que je les aime. Que je vous aime. Engraver votre nom quelque part dans mon cœur. Et le porter par tout en moi, tel un atome dans une molécule. Former avec vous l'unité, dans notre individualité.

31/08/2015 12:46

[thealchemies]

Write me passion.

I want to smell your soul and feel your fingertips on my skin.

Smell the emotions that emanate from your soul through your body. Feel the sheets of your skin react to my fingertips as they roll over it. I want us to entangle our bodies, cover you with my arms and my warm energy. Scroll the tip of my lip subtily up your spread neck and pull your mouth open, steady in the wait of my next move. I want to hold you close to my chest, grab your behind and cup both of your cheeks, making them mine for as long as I hold. I’m bad and wish to breathe hot steam over your anticipating shoulders and kiss the seam of your hair. Run my fingers through the curls of your soft silky brown hair and pull your head back gently, so your nape meets my burning lips. Grab your love handles and feel your soul beat within the palm of my hands. Roll them around your stomach and up to your tender breasts.

07/09/15

[thealchemies]

He looks at his shop in silence and boredom. What can he write about, he thinks. He sighs then yawns and looks around. Stacks of luxury clothes that he could never afford, nor would ever want to buy. Decorational plastic plants, rows of lights on the ceiling, hanging above his head, looking down. Everything just felt so motionless and unreal. Not even the clients were there to distract him superficially. Just the ones who walked by past the shop and looked in, their look occasionaly meeting his fake smile and acting eyes. None of all this was stimulating to him. None of it was real enough. He could only think about a girl he was very taken by, about getting home, putting on his headphones, isolating himself once more, and listening to his music.

Music was something he was captivated by and had a quite profound knowledge about. He didn't have to think for the songs to carry on playing and the lyrics were already written. He could just sit back in the calm space of his sister's room, lay his head on his folded arms and peer, wide eyed into the thoughts they transcribed to him.

Music transported him, and seemed to understand him. It told him about many things, the people around him didn't. Kept his mind open and alive.

The truth was that he was only waiting for someone to share it with, somebody else with a wide vision he could give and take from.

It's ten in the evening, and on his notebook he scribbles lines; pauses.. searches the right words to express his thoughts and feelings.

"I just want to live a life and love of adventure with her. Make the moments count. Create memories that mean something. Do all the things I've held back from. With her. Take pictures of her, of us and write poetry. Written and physical prose. Want her to show me passion, and to feel her mean it. I would wish to sail upon the waves and watch our reflexion in their curly embrace. Let us both be the portrait of our dreams. Inspire one another. The others don't matter.

07/09/2015"

Although he very rarely read books, he loved writing, and imagining someone might some day read his notes and come close to perceiving what he felt at that time. He had the need to share and create.

Nothing else had ever interested him. Only the arts of this life could stop him from feeling numb. Or at least accompagny him in his neutral routine.

He had often heard the mainstream followers but also deeper, far wiser men say that you have to follow your dream. He was never quite sure what that meant. For he had not yet perfectly assimilated what his dream was. But as the years went by, after having tried to fight the crave of working as an artist, he was starting to understand that he had to do what he had to do. Nothing was going to be easy. But if it was worth the battle, then surely it would just be a shame to let it fade away. He needed to do the only thing that inspired him, which was to inspire himself. And maybe others who had lost their way, or needed escaping.

The need was forever growing greater, no matter how he turned his back on it. He had to live his dream. For maybe somewhere out there, his dream was in a deep slumber and picturing him. It needed to be awaken.

So he did what he could to keep the sun going down at the end of the day, tried to stay as motivated as he could about this job, that was earning him money. And occasionally he would go out with friends and speak to the girl.

But the impatience of being left alone with his thoughts drove him to sadness and frustration. He could not bare the idea of having nothing to do. A French poet once said "l'ennui c'est la mort", literally that death is boredom. Many times he felt like he could relate to that.

One of those days, as he often did, he grabbed his pen and paper and started typing:

"Have we not just been drowned in emotions? You can now access whatever you want on Humanity. Its beauty and its moments of compassion and sensitivity, but also its great moments of darkness and chaotic violence. Have we not just been witness to so many lives, that living our own, has become a silent pain? Where are the days where, we fended for ourselves, strived in unity, and were confronted to survival? For those were the days where we actually lived."

Paris was a machine, he thought. And living among the mundain upper class of the city was dragging him lower than his expectations of human interactions. Most of the time, the humans there merely existed underneath the shell they wore to and from work. Black, white, yellow and tanned faces. But he could not tell the differences between them.

If he ever took the city train, there was never any conversation. Only the artists found such silence to be their niche, as they would dance, sing, laugh and make music.

In the window of the premium menswear shop across the isle, decorations pictured beautiful latin village sceneries by the seaside. The mannequins stared eyeless out of the glass onto the passageway.

It was then that he wished he could swim in those clear blue waters, where the sun shone. Alternately, he wished to get the chance to paint such landscapes and to throw rainbow coloured buckets of paint at those blank models. Life was too short to take it too seriously.

[thealchemies]

You, always. You.

I can not explain why I feel that way around you. But you're.. different to others. There seems to be something to be done with you. Sights to be seen, with you and within you. Languages to be spoken that others don't take the time to understand. You take the time to make things real and quality. Not just a shell,you're the beauty that lies beneath. There is some force, some energy that your soul transmits to mine, and that mine gives back. Technically speaking, a connexion. So please don't become an other.

Each time I read "beautiful" I think of her. Some people seem so shallow and passionless that I dare not swim in them.

I want to be in your warm hands and for you to strum my strings. Make me vibrate and sing all the notes I have, waiting inside of me. I want to write songs with this girl. Damn this to the heavens. I use you to inspire me. To give me pretty thoughts so I can engrave them forever.

13/09/15

[thealchemies]

moo’d

When you feel this good, don't wonder when it's going to end. Keep pushing it to carry on. Until your mood becomes no longer a phase, but a part of who you are.

[thealchemies]

Fatalistic.

Fate is hard to imagine. People will go mad if you tell them what they're doing is already written. Hard to conceive that some shall fail and some shall thrive. It doesn't seem fair. Even if they do this through free will, at least they can feel they tried. Like they had a choice, a flair. Emotions breed pride and deception. But a world without them would just seem cold, with no air.

13/09/15