Everything seems to due to the fact that the temporally lost narrative of a trance incessantly alternates in my mind. The corpus of my work melts embedded in nowadays already fruitful creations; but it is only the conscious vomit of the abnormal spoilage inside my brain, breaking away after being produced. Looking at the faulting pieces and fragments which dissociated from it, they drift away towards a path which cannot be set; that newborn soul will coexist with me and separate itself from the world. Broken fragments in enchanting colors, attached one to another within seconds, draw the contours of the shape; a wandering black line simulates the never-ending overlapping plots, enclosing the incredible territory, building the boundaries of the narrative.
Apart from drawing consciousness, all the proliferating behavioral appearances reconstruct and link together the evolutional process through flashbacks, carrying that entire indistinguishable content, while the fingers stick to each other between the gaps. In this echoing state, despite “the extension of the self” coming from the knowledge theory, some kind of reason about the consciousness of an affair is obtained. A jointly constructed outline of time and senses is depicted, summing up the world in a sort of visual poetry about low level perceptions.