i dream in CMYK

the k-hole is not what you think it is – it is pure black, it is pigment in void, the hole we as humans are born with. No options available, thrown to existence without consent or approval, not the slightest nod or warning “hey, so uh… you’re going in, ‘k?” – Boom! Colour. It’s only natural to have life come as shock.

i’ve always glanced at the ones who are able to shrink their k-hole at the mercy of their will (mostly admiring it when it happens as an unconscious move triggered by external, foreign holes) – do they look at themselves and see the blackness? Does the mirror present brighter hues to hide it? Do they recognise the misery of not feeling empty? The wasted chance of filling it with joy… – bigger k-holes equal a stronger return if joy is found in our timelines. I once cared about these questions… can’t say if I still do I just know I don’t pay much attention to them.

so I got closer. I placed my heart high above my head, where my vision would not reach it, mimicking all the features a smaller-k-hole-owner provided as graph paper I could sketch my timeline on. There were immense advantages in tiny k-holes… the turbulence wouldn’t knock them out to the ground as easily (if at all) – it was so much safer, or so I thought. I grabbed my own k-hole and placed it in a silver squared box because light would reflect and deflect such a symptomatic nuisance… I just forgot that metal can be rejected from bodies.

you see, for all that we keep within silver, for deception and reflection, there’s a tangencial story that starts to write itself, a parallel timeline, heavier than humanly possible to guide ourselves through (as much as I convinced myself stronger so I’d carry it around without losing my breath). There is only one and truthful timeline – if we care enough to write another, then who are we for sure? Which timeline is ours and which is mirrored? They both belong to us but we can only hold honesty and purity truthful to one. A single one, our own and unique blueprint – never sketched over an existing piece.

this fact (which is a personal, subjective one although I believe it carries much of what we judge to be human/e) does not have any consequence over how linear the path is, in fact the truthful timeline is the one carrying all the stops, fast-forwards and brutal attack angles, the swooping misdirections and plans that never were. If the road is clear and “straight ahead” blinks at all times, I now know I’m in the wrong lane so I hop to the side and adjust controls – it’s rather easy to swerve if I’m not a bit careful.

creating parallel timelines is natural, let that be clear – right when the k-hole starts forming, we become the masters of a sketch we might want to ink. In fact that’s how we grow. Mimicking, repeating, emulating. It is only when it serves as the main path that the timeline should be deleted, for is not truthful nor of any real value to a human who appreciates the weightlessness of k-holes (think of it as zero gravity, total relaxation).

have you ever measured your little squared silver box against your k-hole? My own blackness was far less damaging (though apparently scarier) than carrying around a piece of metal inside my chest, pressuring my lungs and keeping me from breathing deeply enough to make sure I was not only alive but living… Sure, I’ve always been fond of the silver box, I still treasure it and I’d never throw it away – but it is external now, only connected through a thin silky string, easier on my body and useful for all the precious CMYK moments of joy.

i will still appreciate from a safe distance the ones who seem not to have their k-hole (or not being mindful of them)… it’s a fascinating view over a reality I once desired for myself. I will relentlessly inform and remind myself of how not having an empty space leads to disastrous consequences – not something I’m proud of but it’s a part of the way I operate through my own timeline.

because… black is everywhere and everything, it can be either the addiction or subtraction but always as a result of natural processes, never purposeful and most importantly it’s the only means of comparison to C, M or Y . There is no colour without black, there is no joy in erasing the k-hole – the vantage point many can observe in shrinking it is a mere illusion (a sabotage of the self – which is a valid choice but doesn’t it fight kindness as an enemy?).

i adopted my own, called it “sweetheart” and offered it the sights of colour. To my amazement and still shaky belief it grunted back a childish contrarian “Hmmm… I don’t want to but I will… Sure… I guess…” . My K in all it’s imperfect, terrifying glory. It naturally grew bigger once I reached my heart (still well above my head and as distant as possible at all times so I wouldn’t be tempted to feel it) and placed it where it belonged, the fear remained – but not the hopelessness.

there was no space left in me when I created my erased-k-hole-timeline. Sure, it felt safer, there was little room for pain (or the consciousness of it I should say) but it stopped me from seeing the bright hues I always found very seducing in their striking comfort… there is no growth when you’ve just layered plastic over the porous skin, it tightens you up, it makes you crumble from the outside in, an implosion of shattered fragments so miniscule you would need 100 lifetimes to glue back together again if you decided to…

i dreamed in cmyk and lived in K, I was taller and cunningly wiser. I thought it would fit me, a precise measurement of my wishes and hopes like the perfect summer dress I can easily slide in when waking up in a hurry.

have you ever pictured yourself living at the top of the tallest mountain, yelling to the skies “I’m here!”, proudly building your own little shack and successfully surviving the elements and lack of decent amounts of oxygen? It sounds like the mission of a lifetime, a milestone for true heroes in human form huh? Now just think about the echoes… everytime you scream “I’m here! I made it” you’ll hear yourself, over and over again, again and again, to the point you stop talking because the voice (your own) becomes an unbearable reminder of the loneliness at that achievement… there are no melodies, tones or rhythms, not even that long of a colour spectrum – just the repetitive emptiness of your own fight to the top only to find out you’ve now depleted your timeline of further goals because you’ve just crossed the ultimate finish line…

my squared silver box is right here, I can always see it in my peripheral vision, it’s a soothing reminder of how we can choose what we carry and what we proudly deem unnecessary – and it’s only human to be attracted to shiny objects right? I have carefully curated it’s content and it now serves a more humble yet the most rewarding task – the snapshots of smiles, the possibility of joy, being able to pick and choose, crafting my timeline to my own liking even when I know I’ll never seize to be surprised and caught off guard.

leave your k-hole intact, let it be! Let it grow, let it shrink, let it live – don’t interfere. You should be able to live to the fullest whilst proudly letting the wind surf inside it, swirling you around to possibilities you hadn’t even considered, the grips of an unconscious control command you didn’t would guide you to the best of decisions. Trust your k-hole, it is truthful and benign – because pain isn’t necessarily bad.

it may feel empty and cold but it’s exactly where you can place all the lines and colours, melodies and tones, memories and losses – all of these are not at the top of the highest mountain, they’re right here, at your side, at ground level where all the bleeding hearts belong.

 

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