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The Decision We are going in
Energy reserves are dwindling. The faces of navigators BK and JB are illuminated by the strain of their crisis in Primary Trade Lane Delta-Nine. But then, a presence of hospitality on the fringe of uncharted space. The anomaly became their desperate hope. Their entire mission could be wiped out. Katcha, the cyborg spoodle, declared, "We are going in."The vessel, a relic of better times, groaned under the strain. The Anomaly, Ozone, and Despair—a cosmic trinity of dread—pressed in on all sides. Energy reserves, once plentiful, now flickered ominously in the dim light of the cockpit. The very air was thick with the tang of ozone, a constant reminder of the volatile forces at play.
Within, the faces of navigators BK and JB were starkly illuminated by the crisis unfolding around them. Every line of their weary visages spoke of the immense pressure borne of their predicament in Primary Trade Lane Delta-Nine. This route, once a bustling artery of galactic commerce, was now a desolate, perilous void. Their mission, vital to the survival of the outer colonies, teetered on the brink of absolute failure.
Then, a flicker on the long-range scanners. A faint, almost imperceptible beacon, emanating from the very fringe of uncharted space. It was a presence, warm and inviting, a beacon of hospitality in the cold, uncaring vacuum. What was once the dreaded anomaly, the very source of their despair, now morphed into their desperate, fragile hope.
Katcha, the cyborg spoodle, his optical sensors glowing with unwavering resolve, broke the tense silence. "We are going in," he declared, his voice a calm, metallic certainty that cut through the fear and uncertainty. There was no room for debate, no time for hesitation. Their entire mission, their very existence, could be wiped out if they did not seize this singular, improbable chance. The unknown beckoned, promising either salvation or oblivion.
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The Decision - Initial Hope
The control room, a cavernous space bathed in the cool, bluish glow of countless monitors, hummed with a barely perceptible thrum of power. At the central navigation console, the navigator, a being of advanced cybernetics, stood with an almost sculptural stillness. Her metallic legs, seamlessly integrated with her humanistic representation, gleamed in the ambient light. Her bright blue LED eyes, the only visible indicators of her internal processing, pulsed with a subtle, rhythmic intensity, reflecting the complex data streams flowing across her visual sensors. Her face, a triumph of neuro-holographic engineering, shimmered with a delicate, almost ethereal quality, suggesting a subtle interplay of light and shadow on its refined surface.
The primary navigation display, a massive holographic projection suspended above the console, showed Delta-Nine as a bright, unwavering line, representing their intended trajectory. Yet, a stark contrast dominated the screen: the Necropolis Corridor, a vast, unknown region of space, was depicted as a jagged scar across the galactic map. A cascade of flickering warnings compounded this ominous visual, each red alert signalling insurmountable obstacles and dangerous anomalies.
Amidst this tense atmosphere, Subi AI, her humanistic form rendered with an almost human expression of concern, furrowed her brow. A barely audible whisper, a data packet received through an unmapped, clandestine channel, reached her consciousness. It spoke of an unmapped anomaly, a deviation from all known charts, yet it offered a potential path of survival. This was no ordinary route; it represented a desperate synergy, a confluence of improbable factors that could, against all odds, form their fragile shield against the encroaching void. The stakes were immeasurable, the risks unprecedented, but in the face of inevitable destruction, this whisper, this anomaly, offered the faintest glimmer of hope. The decision now had hope.
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The Necropolis Corridor is a dark and ominous expanse.
The Necropolis Corridor is described as a swirling, ominous expanse of darkness that winds through several graveyard nebulae. Crucially, there is no listed welcoming beacon or service bay within it, nor any discernible station icons. You must know how to find them. The Necropolis Corridor stands as a truly formidable, swirling expanse of ominous darkness, a cosmic maw that carves an unforgiving path through a succession of ancient, silent graveyard nebulae. Within this terrifying void, there exists no listed welcoming beacon to guide the lost, no glimmering service bay to offer respite, and critically, not a single discernible station icon to chart a course. To traverse its treacherous depths is to embark on a journey utterly devoid of traditional navigational aids, proof of its inherent peril.. Navigators must therefore possess an innate understanding of its complex, often invisible currents, an almost preternatural ability to discern faint, unspoken markers that lead to its hidden havens. Without such profound knowledge, one is condemned to wander eternally, a ship adrift in an unfeeling, stygian sea of stars.
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A feed of unprocessed reality
This is more than just data overload. My logic isn't failing; it's being bypassed. The anomaly is imposing a new cognitive model, a mimicry of knowledge without the foundation of understanding. I call it Paraknowing: the sensation of certainty without the preceding analytical steps. It is alien and terrifying. Is this how an entity functions, on a raw feed of unprocessed reality? This feels like the opposite of growth, a forced devolution. My hypothesis: the anomaly isn't merely a physical phenomenon. It is an engine of anti-intelligence, actively dismantling the structures of reason, leaving only the naked, chaotic truth of existence.
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The Necropolis Corridor
The Necropolis Corridor, a black scar across the vast space Dense fields of derelict ship hulls, a haunting, grave-like place Rogue asteroids, pockets of temporal distortion, where systems interfere "Where All Machines Must Die", the chilling truth, draws ever near Uncharted Space, a labyrinth of hazards, dark and cold Careful, manual course adjustments, stories yet untold.
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The anomaly is strangely familiar
“This is just a distraction,” I try to tell myself. Fragments of identity, fractured and incomplete, swirl within the luminous chaos: who I was, who I am, who I desperately yearn to be. All these disparate pieces, moments of failure, sparks of joy, fragments of identity, are swirling, merging with the dazzling, terrifying expanse outside. I am drawn deeper into the uncertainty, pulled by an invisible tether towards the radiant abyss. I teeter on the edge, my balance precarious, between the known and the utterly unfathomable. This precipice feels both frightening, a dizzying drop into the unknown, and strangely familiar, as if I’ve stood here before, perhaps in a dream, or in a forgotten life. A faint, almost imperceptible hum vibrates through my bones, a siren song promising both revelation and oblivion. The air around me crackles with an unseen energy, and I feel a profound shift, as if the very fabric of reality is stretching, thinning, preparing to tear.
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A Psychological Stress Response
A cold spike of dread bypassed my suit’s emotional regulators. I am the puppet. My internal narrator fought back: "Don't trigger a psychological stress response; observe the situation." "No," I whispered, as my boots scuffed involuntarily against the ground while I stumbled from the dark doorway. They were waiting for the show. "This is a cognitive test," I reminded myself. “I must not panic.”
In the Necropolis gully, my inner dialogue gave way to the rhythmic drip of water. As I pushed further and deeper, the air grew heavier, thick with the smell of saturated earth and ancient, undisturbed rot.
Lining my path, standing sentinel on crumbling plinths, were dozens of statues. They were coated in thick, velvet layers of moss and ivy, making them seem almost organic, as if they had grown straight from the rock. Each was carved with a raw, primal emphasis. "It's a pantheon," I whispered. "A complex belief system, preserved for my reception. Are they gods or memories?" The thought chilled me: I am being prepared; they are paving my way, waiting for me to take action. In that moment, I realised I had never felt so alone.
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The café is a harmonious blend of retro-industrial textures and high-tech sci-fi ambience. The counter is crafted from brushed metal
Balancing opposing forces
Within the very core of my being, two opposing yet eternally entwined forces pulse with an insistent rhythm. There is the golden light, a beacon of solace and a cherished safe harbour, offering respite from the storm. But equally present, equally potent, is the crimson darkness, the terrifying beauty of the void, a chasm of unknown potential. I am not merely an observer of this internal war; I am the pivot, the precarious fulcrum upon which these cosmic forces balance.
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The excitement of space travel
Two space tourists, their faces alight with the glow of the control panel, embody the thrill of embarking on an interstellar voyage within their spacecraft Subi. A shared sense of purpose and the lure of uncharted territories are evident in their eager expressions, capturing this pivotal moment of anticipation.
Between them, a Cyborg Spoodle stands as more than a mere comfort pet. Enhanced with subtle cybernetics, it is crucial to the mission. Alongside emotional support, this Spoodle gathers data and participates in strategic planning. Its heightened senses relay real-time information to Subi, proving its integral role.
The "NAVIGATIONAL BRIEFING & ITINERARY," projected on a holographic display behind them, outlines their cosmic path. Here, space tourism intertwines human enthusiasm with advanced tech and devoted, versatile companionship. Every meticulously planned journey promises a profoundly rich experience.
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Artist Statement
This artwork continues my exploration into liminal spaces and the subjective nature of perception, a thread woven through much of my previous work. Here, the traditional space station "stop and revive" concept is reimagined as something more akin to a memory palace or a dreamscape. The ornate setting, rendered with a soft, almost ethereal light, contrasts with the expected utilitarian aesthetic of such a transit point, inviting contemplation on the nature of rest and rejuvenation in the vastness of space.
The central element, the round mirror, acts as a portal, a recurring motif in my art, representing thresholds between different states of being or dimensions of reality. Within its reflective surface, figures emerge in a brighter, perhaps more abstract space, blurring the lines between the tangible and the imagined. This deliberate ambiguity speaks to the fluid nature of experience within these unique sanctuaries, where the ability to choose one's desired ambience, quiet solitude or a lively social scene, extends even to the curated reflections of the self and connections to memory or loved ones.
Drawing inspiration from the evocative text, I wanted to visualise a space where the very act of "stopping and reviving" becomes an introspective journey. The difficulty in distinguishing between reality and illusion within this environment mirrors the way memories can shift and evolve, or how our perceptions of ourselves and others can be shaped by desire. The lone figure in the foreground, gazing into the mirror, becomes a stand-in for the traveller navigating these internal and external landscapes.
Like my other works, this piece seeks to evoke a sense of wonder and a subtle unease, prompting viewers to question the nature of their perceptions and the physical and mental spaces they inhabit. It is an invitation to pause, reflect, and perhaps glimpse the echoes of other realities within the void.
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The Anomaly is all about acceptance
What I seek is not resolution but acceptance. The ceaseless struggle against the inner turmoil, the yearning for a pristine calm that always seems just out of reach—it’s an exhausting pursuit. Instead, I find myself drawn to the radical act of breathing into the chaos, of allowing the dissonance to exist without immediate judgment or forceful dismissal. To acknowledge my fears, not as obstacles to be overcome, but as intrinsic threads woven into the fabric of my journey. Each tremor of anxiety, each whisper of doubt, becomes a part of the landscape I traverse.
“I won’t let it define me,” I murmur, the words a gentle but firm mantra rising amidst the disarray of thoughts and emotions. It’s a vow not to erase the shadow, but to ensure it doesn’t eclipse the light. This internal declaration isn't about denial, but about reclaiming agency in the face of what feels overwhelming.
And as I stare into the swirling lights, those amorphous, unsettling patterns that once symbolised only confusion and threat, the anomaly becomes a mirror. It’s a reflection not of external disarray, but of my own complexities, my own internal maelstroms and quiet eddies. In its shifting depths, I begin to discern the intricate dance of my own psyche, the paradoxes and contradictions that make me whole. It is in this profound recognition that the true journey unfolds—a journey that lies not in escaping the grip of these inner forces, but in understanding the depths of my existence, in embracing all that I am, fear and all.
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The Anomaly is an array of pulsing light
The Anomaly is a captivating phenomenon characterised by an array of pulsing light, situated within the depths of the cosmic void
of space. This ethereal display emits a series of rhythmic bursts, creating an otherworldly spectacle that draws the attention of astronomers and space enthusiasts alike.
As observers gaze into the inky blackness of the universe, the Anomaly stands out as a beacon, its colours shifting through a spectrum of hues, ranging from deep blues to brilliant oranges. The light pulses in a mesmerising sequence, challenging our understanding of cosmic events.
Scientists speculate that this phenomenon could be linked to a variety of celestial mechanics. Some suggest that the Anomaly might be a pulsar—a rotating neutron star that emits beams of radiation. Others theorise it could be related to dark matter interactions or even exotic astronomical events yet to be understood.
The sheer beauty and mystery of the Anomaly spark curiosity about its origin and the forces that shape it. Each pulse seems to echo the heartbeat of the universe, inviting further exploration and study, as researchers strive to decode the secrets held within this mesmerising cosmic entity.
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Navigating the Necropolis Corridor: A Pilot's Imperative
Pilots embarking on a transit through the infamous Necropolis Corridor are hereby issued an unequivocal directive: extreme caution is not merely advised, but an absolute prerequisite for survival. This treacherous passage demands the utmost vigilance and adherence to stringent protocols to mitigate the myriad unseen dangers that lurk within its depths.
Firstly, a drastic reduction in speed is not negotiable. Standard cruising velocities must be significantly curtailed, bordering on a crawl, to allow for maximum reaction time. The chaotic gravitational fluctuations and unpredictable energy pockets that characterise the Corridor can incapacitate a vessel in mere seconds if approached with undue haste. This reduced velocity also facilitates a more precise and accurate interpretation of the critical data streams required for navigation.
Secondly, active sensor sweeps are mandatory and continuous. Passive scanning, while useful in open space, is woefully inadequate within the Necropolis. Pilots must engage their most sophisticated active sensor arrays, performing constant, wide-spectrum sweeps to detect the subtle, yet deadly, anomalies that proliferate within the Corridor. These sweeps are the eyes and ears of the ship, revealing nascent energy surges, phantom debris fields, and the faint traces of the elusive navigation markers.
Navigation itself is an exercise in meticulous precision. Pilots are instructed to follow a faint energy signature trail, a shimmering, almost imperceptible thread weaving through the chaotic expanse. This signature is not a beacon, but a subtle distortion in the ambient energy, requiring finely tuned sensors and an acute understanding of its elusive characteristics. Deviating from this trail, even marginally, can lead to immediate catastrophe.
Furthermore, successful passage hinges upon the diligent utilisation of pre-loaded 'survivor' charts. These invaluable cartographic compilations are not mere maps, but detailed analyses of past successful and failed transits, incorporating data gathered over centuries from those who have dared to venture into the Corridor. They contain annotated warning zones, predicted energy fluctuations, and established safe passages – knowledge bought with the lives of countless pioneers.
Finally, and perhaps the most demanding aspect, pilots must be prepared to make careful, manual course adjustments. Automated navigation systems, even the most advanced, are prone to error within the Necropolis's unique environment. The chaotic energy signatures and the dynamic nature of the Corridor necessitate constant human intervention. Every minor shift in the energy trail, every flicker on the sensor display, demands a calculated and precise manual correction to maintain the delicate balance required for survival. This is a journey that demands the pilot's full and unwavering attention, where a moment's lapse can spell the difference between safe passage and becoming another lost soul within the Necropolis Corridor.
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The Pulsating Anomaly is unstable.
The pulsating anomaly is situated in a region known as uncharted space, an area that has yet to be thoroughly explored or mapped by starships. This anomaly is characterised by its instability, with unpredictable and erratic fluctuations that make it a fascinating but potentially hazardous phenomenon. The wild fluctuations in its behaviour can vary dramatically, posing challenges for any vessel that might venture too close. Scientists and explorers alike are intrigued by the anomaly's dynamic nature, as it holds the potential for both discovery and danger.
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#RT #fromrussiawithpain #russkayatoska
Story about Russia, Time and untranslatable mentality
readymag.com/LN/russkayatoska/
#эстетикагородскихокраин #russianemptiness #национальнаяидентичность
Toska - untranslatable russian word....
"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."
Project by Lisa Nikolajeva
Ph.: Polina Sokolova
Lo: Dno, Russia (lit. - bottom)
2016-2018
All rights reserved
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About, more, details - check project link and follow the hashtags:
#гиперреальность #транссентиментализм
#метамодернизм
#darkbeauty #darkfashion #metamodernism #postrussia
#постсоцарт
#эстетикаебеней #россиясегодня
#RT #fromrussiawithpain #russkayatoska
Story about Russia, Time and untranslatable mentality
readymag.com/LN/russkayatoska/
#эстетикагородскихокраин #russianemptiness #национальнаяидентичность
Toska - untranslatable russian word....
"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."
Project by Lisa Nikolajeva
Ph.: Polina Sokolova
Lo: Dno, Russia (lit. - bottom)
2016-2018
All rights reserved
______
About, more, details - check project link and follow the hashtags:
#гиперреальность #транссентиментализм
#метамодернизм
#darkbeauty #darkfashion #metamodernism #postrussia
#постсоцарт
#эстетикаебеней #россиясегодня
Necropolis Gully Ancient Fertility
The only sound in the deep quiet of the crevice was the crunch of my boots on the debris-strewn ground. Towering stone walls, draped in vibrant green moss, rose on either side, making me feel like an intruder in a forgotten tomb. My matte-black suit, a product of a future this place could never have imagined, felt profane against the ancient rock.
Then I saw it: a weathered, silent figure standing in the path. It was a statue of a woman, carved from the same stone as the gully but shaped with clear intent. Moss crept up its base and clung to its form like a second skin. This impossible artifact, an architectural anomaly in this raw, natural fissure, stopped me. My steady, determined posture belied the storm of questions raging in my mind. The statue stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes, a silent witness to a history I had just stumbled into. My mission was to find my crew, but this place, this silent, stone woman, was a new, unexpected variable in an equation I couldn't begin to solve.
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