It all started and is inspired by this piece of music:

The Caretaker- Everywhere At The End of Time

Stages 1~6

It’s just a burning memory.

Your identity. Consciousness. Mark in this world. What are you without these wheels
turning in your head keeping this story and reality afloat? Death is just an end in the film.
“Nothingness” or “pitch black” does not encompass the abrupt cut and disappearance. No
ending credits or Easter eggs. Death is just like sleeping except you never knew you slept or
how.

Death is not what scares me, the ones who find me will be in charge of that. What scares
me is to be a shell - a zombie- with nothing inside but a beeping machine barely keeping me
“alive.” But this also is nuanced.

Self-Worth. Dignity. Connections. Mark in life. The only people who share it are the
people whose hamster sprints to keep their cogs turning. The ones who suffer will be the ones
alive. The ones who remember what this breathing corpse once was.

The drums of my heart, dilating pupils, and rise and fall in my chest means nothing if I
am not there.

Mourning for a person that’s still alive.

Grieving the loss of a person who is still alive.

My mother used to tell me to let go of her once she needs someone else taking care of
her or becomes bed-ridden. I think I adopted the same terror she planted in me.

The horror and confusion you will wake up to every single day in between the six stages
of a parasite chewing through, tracing your steps back to an infant. Forgetting the ones you
love to the brief glances of fate you shared with a passerby.

You would think. But you can’t. You can’t think. You just CANNOT THINK. You lose the
grip of who you are, where you are, what you are. But every time you recognize something is
wrong, that same thought just slips away. Then you are back at it again. You want to think. But
you can’t.

If I caught it beforehand what would I do? Would the knowledge of a slowly impending
doom spiral me into a reckless drive, doing everything and anything I can think of? Or will my
love for life, the livelihood of being conscious turn me to a wordless bigger, praying to an
omnipotent I never believed.
 But why bother if the film is going to be cut. When will I know or when will I realize, my
hamster wheel is broken and I am the one being spun by the wheel? The last spurt of inertia
pushing all the blood up to the tipsy top of my head- watching it explode.

A brutal bliss beyond this empty defeat.