K N O C K I N G   O N   H E A V E N ' S   D O O R    / /    B O B   D Y L A N 

Force is a state of energy. Heat is a state of energy. Gravity is a state of energy. Even dreams are states of Energy. 

What is heaven?

Can we derive it as a form of Energy? Can we define it in scientific terminologies? Can we reach to it's boiling temperature? 

There's a way ahead of us. A long way. 

Lines can't describe it. Paths will get you lost. Maps won't be able able to define it. Friends can't be heard even when they're talking you you. You won't be seen by the rescue ship. 

Look at the only shining star. The brightest one. Follow that. It'll get you to your destination. 

Wherever it is. 

Heaven's not that great after all, if you're not there. 

You're my shining start, stay bright... 

We live in a network of inspirations. Inspirations that suffer the most from ideological phase changes. And we as designers, as thinkers, painters, poets, and mainly humans end up in the most unexpected time in the crossfire of ideas and concepts. Most of those ideas, not so clear. Very little actually worth paying attention. 

I, as an Architect, I'm not very interested in the ideas themselves. I'm more interested to see what happens when you combine those ideas. How do you make a painting off of it. How do you write one line of music. How do you manufacture a half functioning mechanical object. 

How does it project as a collective into an artboard, a guitar, or a building. 

R O A D S   / /   D I S T O R T I O N   / /   T I M E

There's no such thing as darkness, it's simply the absence of light.
There's no such thing as sadness, it's simply the absence of you. 

ANONYMITY //  LOST // DEATH

 Something happens at ninety seven miles per hour on a dark road. Lights start to tilt towards an unknown source. Your view funnels into a specific cone of vision of that specific moment. Everything on the road starts getting detached from it. Becomes transparent.. unimportant.. unreal. Nothing is in front of you. And all that's behind you is the thunder of your screaming engine. 

You'er on an open ended highway. Striking the asphalt harder than tornado.

Are you lost? Do you feel the frost? On you... Can I trust? On the road. On you.

Wind's pushing your chest. Wants to throw you out of your ride.  

You're resisting. Resisting the force. Resisting to leave her behind. You made a promise ones to keep her. Nothing will ever get in front of you. 

No cages.

CONTINUITY // STEADINESS // DROWNING -- Banks of Ohio

Memories have a tendency to stay. The dark ones stay longer. And the ones that you wish you'd never came across with them tend to never leave your body alone, your soul, your vision, and your future. 

At every corner of this damn city, there's a memory of you. You are my darkest shadow following me secretly through every alley, and you are the scariest ghost haunting me at every turn. 

I remember... When I lost you. The architecture of this binary universe changed and never went back to its original state. Houses became prisons, bodies became machines, and people became animals. 

When I'm on the edge of a cliff, same cliff that took us away from each other, I'm starring directly at my future that's precisely thirty one meters and 2.4 seconds away, I'm comfortably numb. Breathing is almost dead. Eyes almost closed. Soul almost off the ground. Your whole life's almost a descending scale. Almost a fine musical piece from the East. Almost done. Almost gone.  

I tend to think. Will I be with you in the next 2.4 seconds if I take another step? Gravity says yes! Do you? 

That's when the non-scientific part of me tells me that I have already waited so long that time isn't anything but a vague piece of shit unit that is there to remind us of our loss. 

All that's left is the last bottle of the eighteen year old Scotch whiskey in your car parked away from the cliff and half loaded gun in the glove compartment.

Do I really want to go back to the car or take a "step forward"? 

With or without you, this polynomial life will continue

Let the fire touch your skin. Let the wind push us closer to each other. Let the softness of your secret thoughts harden my love. Let the rhythm of my heartbeat become the symphony of this mythical relationship of ours.

Let the fire touch your skin, dear, this is where the love begins. 

When you're about nine thousand.. ten thousand.. eleven thousand, or God known, who gives a damn miles away from the one you love and you're contentiously counting the days to hold her hand just one more time, your memories start to fade away, like the smoke of fine cigar. Some leave a remarkable taste and some leave a deep painful scar.

All that's left is ashes on your table.

With or without you, this polynomial life will continue. But I'll be a blind man trying to look at your eyes. A blind good looking man trying to touch your skin with his hands gone missing. And a blind good looking brave man trying to feel your love with a shattered heart. Depression is no longer a dark concept for you, it's simply reality knocking on your door. 

There's a phone that's been continuously ringing for the past seven and a half hours.

There's a heart that's been beating violently for the past twenty seven hours.

//

This is simply a brain damage.

Feelings don't possess directions, they're not vectors, they're not quantities, they're not measurable, thus they're not scientific. They are projections of you talking to yourself in the most honest, dark, sarcastic, and imaginary ways.

This is simply a brain damage. When you have more alcohol flowing in your veins than blood. More pain in your body than strength. 

Your logic is walking hand to hand with your sub cautious, both of those bastards questioning your more than honest feeling. You feel connected to something but it isn't necessarily the God, or any higher power. 

It is you reconnecting to yourself - telling the damn logic and all the scientific crap that tries to suppress your feelings to leave you alone. 

Yes, I may not be in my most sober state right now; however, I'm drunk enough the appreciate the wind. The music from the East. The wine. The distant loud scream of a Harley Davidson. This is me being fully ignorant to things that potentially can invite logic in my damaged brain and cautious to things that can bring back the feelings.

  

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

Once I had the perfect sunshine.. 

We don't tend to feel the pain of the loss of the sunshine so immediately. Maybe it's because we've been continuously told that sun will rise up again... Tomorrow, the first thing after the darkness. The long lasting darkness. The long lasting and never ending darkness. A kind of a darkness that light wouldn't even dare to walk in. 

When you understand the fact that the damn sunshine ain't going to rise and shine anymore, that's when you walk up to that cabinet on the top left corner of your kitchen and you aggressively grab that bottle of Jack, pour it hard in your favorite Whiskey glass that's been sitting there for about two and a half years, reserved for darkness. You drink it to put down the pain of your loss and wash down your flames with a 45% gasoline and hope that it works. 

You put on your old motorcycle boots. Put on your leather jacket with the bald eagle sewed on to it. Put on your gloves, load your gun, and walk up to your ride, half drunk half blind. Hear your engine scream, in the confusion of life and dream, "hang your head low, and hear the wind blow."