A film showing the inner connectedness of the consciousness of the characters...

Addressing the viewer as they experience the film, facilitating the awareness of being here and now watching a film.

From the highest to the lowest and back, people in the gutters and dying of starvation.

Showing the malleability of reality as a collective crealisation of consciousness: we dive into the extremes of manifestation and victimhood.

A film about the choice of following our soul's will or not, and freeing that road, paved by focus.

A film deconstructing what we believe, while facilitating the realisation of the fact that we can choose our beliefs.

A film in which We freely express ourselves in all our layers, trusting that whatever comes is right and should be accepted as fuel on the fire of life.

“Let’s evolve! Let the chips fall where they may”

Tyler Durden in Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk

 

Yes, my work expresses darkness, struggle, and resistance. For long, I resisted this. My main creative block: ‘“my work should be higher and brighter than I am”’. But what comes out, must come out (insert release of intestinal gases/liquids here). Better out than in, they say. The demons and monsters, the psychedelic confusion and chaos warp the figures in my drawings and paintings. It’s where I am in my experience. I cannot express what is not in my awareness. Yet I become aware of the light of awareness, by examining the darkness. There is beauty in chaos, confusion and decay. I cease the struggle with the struggling, and turn it into an image, a form that can be witnessed.

 

Be the monsters that are here inside you. Live the dark desires you withhold, and suddenly freedom comes, to be… bright! The most ‘sinful’ of people can be the most liberated – they go through life, instead of trying to fly over it and land on a cloud. By diving into the fray of clashing flesh, teeth, boners and clitorises we rise to the surface of god’s ambrosiatic brew, instead of squeezing ourselves to breathe a bubble of holiness that collapses when we gasp shocked by the monsters and quakes that stampede straight through us. This hell is holy.

 

Ambrosia must be the juice of life, a carnal cocktail of sweat, musk, blood, sperm, spit, vaginal juices and brain-fluids, with the etheric oils of all flora in perfect harmony, stirred with galactic swirls over the fiery coronal licks of stars, and shaken by stars’ thundering deaths. When drunk, the dan-tien hara black hole accellerates and ones equator expands into the universe, the earth is engulfed through the anus and the sun swallowed by the mouth, all life sucked back into the womb, all light absorbed into the forehead, tunneling to ones core to fan out spraying new forms out from the hips, birthing galaxies, stars, planets and ecosystems supporting egoes.

 

Thus, all that exists is the body of god, the forms we stir in are the product of the very blood and sperm and juices we despise. Let’s not be what we are not. By trying to radiate light when we are in darkness, we rape ourselves and radiate rape. All our acts are part of the great swirling stew of existence. Don’t caress your drowning ego by telling yourself that your brighter life makes a difference among seven billion. You are this way because you should be this way. A cell in the soup. Let that ego be that selfish bastard and that naggy bitch. Enjoy your self. A sin not lived is a divine call missed. God has penises and vaginas. So be godlike, be yours, truly.

 

Yours truly, Timothy Ambrosiac

the God-Honoring Hunter for Ambrosia

 

with gratitude to Iljitsj

the weakest link is the thought of weakness

reaching for the earth from chains of bone

Right: "I love myself as I am"

Left: all the resistance to this belief.

Living is risking lines of time to break free from a history in the making

winking involuntarily at signposts I bump my skulls into
this team of me's makes mastery of quartering a self
that created a body of evidence to support a life of experience
in a world of solidified facts all chosen to be real

wink

waiting for directions from an inner guide I circle
and encircle something centrifuging fusing something
a mind with a mission fused to a centre
breathing fugues of trash from imploding lungs

..i....

the centre refuge refuses isolated selves
that wish with half hearts for both birections
that hold on to letting go of both injunctions
that orbit raging at the outskirts of confusion

..ink

a trail of signposts points broken to a center
full of debris molten neatly to a black diamond hole
absorbingly enticing me's grossly in attraction
what will this ride bring a question mark

win..

marking my position i dive a bungee
ricocheting off the middlewoman's text balloon
(let go! lookatyouyou'refuckingpathetic! Just. Let. Go!)
and back and back to back with doubt i fall

..in..

every time i go up to my attic, i get lost in my old notebooks, diaries, sketchbooks, and 'dummies' filled with scribbles of dribbled drops of thought from my brain and eyes mixed with ink and graphite on decaying paper. What to do with all that? Knowing that i hardly ever bring a project to completion, i half-heartedly set out now to somehow integrate what i find this evening. in a pictorial way. We'll make up the rules as we go along.

RULE NUMBER ONE:
no text shall be produced other than:
 - in mindmaps
 - in poetry
 - embedded in drawings, sketches and other hand-produced material.
 - in titles and tagwords.
-> this means i must continue this intro as a mindmap. see you beyond the scanner!
view above image large here

RULE NUMBER TWO:
Images should be self-explanatory
 - hyperlinks to related subjects and sites are allowed in accompanying blogspace or description.