Eveharkaowenm’s Excerpt
E-E-1
no
yes
No
Yes
NO
YES
NO NO NO
YES YES YES
NOOOOO
YEEEEES
no.
yes.
I said no,
I said yes.
What's wrong with you?
What's wrong with You?!
YOU!
YOU?
no
yes
From "I can't escape the snail, let alone a mongoose" by Eveharkaowenm.
E-E-2
for whom whole made murmur produce, implant nurtured the nature braid. Silk embryo embraces membranous junk. Disparate not self, evidence salvage to vanish, vanquish the fake sage that earns the void to fill the bottomless ceiling.
Savagery, a mirror shell, valley falls. The junctions reappear, a sign, "don't read it deeply, read it gently"
Like a bruise, Brussels sprout bitterness. I don't see any night at this light, What for? Formal attire, matchstick burns once to light the whole. Separate, legacy, form.
No Shield is wielded, seldom monochrome.
Wasted, washed to the shore, below the shire lighthouse. Then again, running in circle, running in circle, running in circle. Even those three phrases mean different things.
Couldn't you see the farther apartness of this whole?
For myself, the stem pioneer grow voyager.
There is no clarity
There is no clouded message within this epistemic failure.
There is no foreboding end that looms and foils in these very words.
Like unabashed frolic jump towards the very present moment that is now, undeclared and somehow will fade to silence, a dimming void that's already here as I cannot run as it already and always has been in front of me.
What would one suggest?
What would be correct?
Would one even see?
Can one even be here?
In here, then again it would be a futile venture, trying to catch up one's own mind, just to self-referentially detonate the mental pressure within oneself, within thyself within thou who read, within thou who think, within thou who exist, and within those who wrote.
A means to a beginning.
For who?
Ooo those who once scream.
From everharkaowenm. A shredded piece of literature.
E-E-3
Everharkowenm Post Manifesto
The world is broken, the reality is an illusion, our existence doesn't exist. We live to die, create meaning to be forgotten, the moment we enjoy is robbed by the future and the past. What lives pass this moment if not suffering? Such minute details of ourselves are in this grandeur elaborate play.
I am here to announce that I am the fixer of the world, realize the illusion, and undo our unexistence.
Thus changes must be made, I have to understand that people are weak to the constant bombardment of the battle of power between reality and the opinions of those who are in power.
Their reality does not concern the fate of the people. They cared only for themselves, some broken order.
And I thought I was capable of changing this wretched fate, no I don't have such power. They made the people busy with problems they made, and they made them lose themselves chasing the world. Just to survive.
It is unsustainable without the heavy cost that we the people paid.
If you realize everything you do is a grave, if it is not faith, if not a good deed, if not toward this betterment.
I can't do all the explanations as I will twist these words, as your mind will interpret them.
People must find themselves again, become one,
The bomb is ticking, that's all they said in all eras of history, we are in a bad time, always. All the time.
The next for the next, it's a different time, it's a different mind. They see it.
I don't know. Yet...
I must go.
E-E-4
"A picture of a concrete pillow hidden behind a thin white curtain in oil-soaked wooden ornaments inside a plastic cover below a glass hemisphere.
A rectangular bipyramid ceramic half-buried in the middle of a dried land slope below the freezing temperate climate.
A wooden sign falls from the sky. It said "How unfortunate." It explodes into millions of pieces of wood when it meets a solid iron ground. The wood pieces burn mid-air, flicker, and are dusted by the wind-swept background.
A glass of calcite tucked away, hidden inside a crystallized cardboard box, abandoned in a dimly lit, empty workspace without walls. The edge of this space is dark, like looking into the night sky. A sparkle within darkness. The cardboard labeled "Continuous relationship-based reality stratum container"
A cavity filled with a collection of mirage patterns. Those triangular concave interferences dotted the landscape like raindrops in a downpour. Supplanted infinitely towards sendimentality degradation. Fragile fragments parallel to those within its wake, the cavity is overturned and produces. Process and absorb. Connects and encompasses.
A chair made out of thousands of different kinds of wood, alloy, liquid, gas, and everything in between, and many more. Its fragments counteract and interact. It asked "Would yesterday be different if tomorrow stayed the same?"
The chair sits near the crystallized cardboard. The workspace edifice is built on top of what was once a dry land slopes below the glass hemisphere. The roof of the edifice is made of solid iron. Beyond the glass hemisphere, the all-encompassing cavity exists riddled with patterns."
"Eveniency dicaearchy" Everharkowenm 394.234.434.208
E-E-5
" Did you ever wonder how you did things the way you do? React to things a certain way, live and see the world in a certain way, why is that? Why is that case not in a different way? And if you could change, would you change? What would you change? Or would you stay the same?
Surely for the better, if you can change to be better you should change no?
Yet most people won't. Which is their choice, right?
Yet to change there will be sacrifices, there will be goodbyes. Say goodbye to whatever makes you the way you are, or at least whatever bad things you keep on doing, those certain things that keep you doing the same bad things over and over again
Then again how would you define better? Is it even worth it?
Surely it is, surely being a better version of yourself, is better by definition.
How could it not be? How come we don't try to do better?
Oftentimes we try and try, fail and fail, till we get tired of it, till nothing seems certain anymore except failure.
People are so joyful when bad things are avoided, but why don't they feel as joyful when good things happen? Well they do, but only when the good things are what they want, the things they believe and perceive as good things.
What is the source of your happiness?
Is it something that's hard to come by?
Where did you place your value?
What counts as valuable?
Is your life valuable? Is others life valuable? Is the life of living things valuable?
Is it the system in which all live intertwined to keep everything in order valuable?
What if your values cross each other?
Is it only when the question arrives you start to think about it? Or even worse you decided to avoid it?
Out of fear it will ruin your day thinking about things that unreachable, out of your control, hard to understand, it's going to make you overthinking about stuff.
Is it though? Is it really the case?
Perhaps it's too much, too dense, and you aren't capable just yet, you are tired.
Quite likely most people are tired.
They can't rest in this restless world, can't even have a good night's sleep just once in their life. Keep the grind continues, grinding yourself into lifeless pulp that wants nothing but just a little bit of that blue sky.
At least it's a thought I have, that soon will be forgotten by me, and who knows when I will read it and ask.
How did I even write this thing?"
"Que in hue." Everharkowenm. 283.342.554