Sensory dissonance is a buzzing, humming, incessant scratching. Sometimes heavy scraping, other times tickling. Uncomfortable wriggling, dodging, avoiding.
Sensory attack is a stabbing pain. Imagine constantly being stabbed by a sharp object but unable to run away, unable to make it stop, afraid to scream – and how much can you scream in a day anyway?
Living inside sensory hell is devastating to mind, soul and body. A damnation to delicate, fragile existence.
Draw blunt, jagged knife through hot, swollen flesh. Struggling for clemency inside Inclement Space. A never-ending wailing of creeping flesh, blood-curdling anguish, hammering, pounding, smashing, dragging, hot-seering-burning… chaffing, chaffing, chaffing, until worn down to trembling bloody bone.
In the here and now… Trapped inside choking shoebox, eating meal after meal in stultification, tired yellow light, crouching awkwardly within chaotic tiny corner, gagging from dust and smoke, screaming for release… yet…
Afraid to step outside.
The smell. Overpowering. Gagging. Foul. Mocking putrefaction. Disintegrating of all and any dignity. How long can you hold your breath?
The chaos. Overwhelming. Drowning. Dizziness. Destroying of soul. How much less can you see or touch?
Clement Space is a sanctuary. An oasis. A fundamental necessity in the harsh, searing and bleak desertscape of agony. An interstice where hypersensory-wonderment may unfurl, and bloom, in delicious fragrant multicoloured kaleidoscope. Petals dancing in gentle breeze. Soothing sonnets of Knowing. Undulating grace.
And thus, we go… Here in a twistie…
Expounding Clement Space.
Designing Clement Space.
Ironically… while living inside Inclemency…
Six months now… tumbling from one into another… night terrors… anxiety attacks…
Longing for death, fighting for life…
Yearning for Clement Space.
But how? And where? And when?