hi my names cleo and i'm about to tell you a really serious story.

As I am made to see the world through clearly opaque windows, I try my hardest to use my ears and not my eyes.

A white, subtle glow.

Isn’t it weird how we talk about the “outside” as if it is beyond us? We are the outside, we are products of the outside.

When I let my thoughts wander, the glass appears kinda distorted. Like the whiteness behind it is fading. Becoming less of a pure and timeless void.

An ominous yellow glow vibrating between the surface of my pupils.

If I close one eye, the window is in the centre. If I close both eyes, the window is no longer there. If I close the other eye, the one which was open at first, there is a change. A tiny tiny shift to the right.

Lean your head to the right, a slow...very soporfic act… does the world tilt with you?

It remains upright. Like our perception isn’t about what we see it is about what we choose to see. Oh, I don’t know really. I wonder whether the “outside” is just a space devoid of truth and life.

The thought of what’s beyond, it frays the outskirts of my iris.

It clouds the surface of my pupils.

It restricts the movements that I make.

Every time I think about how insignificant we are - in the scheme of things - I’m forced to wonder how significantly insignificant it is to actually acknowledge this. I can’t change the way we are. The outside that I deem so vast and so sparklingly wondrous is becoming so suffocating, so black and blue. Dull dull dull.

 

The concept of seeing and feeling, with which we are made to believe exists, exists not; it is merely a formula created so that we don’t see and feel too much. Oh, I don’t know. 

Sometimes the window becomes less obtuse. And more transparent for that matter. 

Sometimes the things we try so hard to believe don’t exist...actually do.

Sometimes I think my thoughts can indent the glass and reshape the whole world I know.

I peer over at the glass, a now ill-coloured red reaching the tips of my lashes.

I tell myself no matter how busy I am, I must make time for reading. Or else “I surrender myself to self-chosen ignorance” - as that guy Confucius said. He didn’t sound that confused to me.

Nous devons être fiers de notre place à l'extérieur, il est petit, et pourtant, il est. Mais nous devons questionner notre place à l'extérieur, il est, il est, il est, mais pourquoi?

As I make my way towards glass, beyond I sense it is darker, more distinct. Red ablaze.

the title comes from this game I played at the Barbican y/day, where we had to walk into the room, say this line and then start reading out our story. everyone else had to try to make me laugh/distract me so I'd have to start from the beginning. let's just say i walked in and out of that room at least 20 times. sUch visuAl art!

Also this story is just how i feel about the world.