Notes

8:43 I looked in the mirror,
the one I learnt just now,
who showed me myself,
the one I learnt just now.

My face was an amalgamation -
a weird bog
of purple, green, and black.

A metastasizing rot.

I looked at my hands for assurance,
the skin you wrapped me in;
Instead I thought too hard

and cried.

✮

On Earth, do as the humans do.
live for one another,
(attention as mission)
and inflict pain.

paradoxical

How am I supposed to endure it all?
I begged for normalcy
but I was alone,

a body half-here and half-there.

Pain is the closest I felt to being one of them
the fluorescent bulb burning my face,
a split second thought of my dissolved lover -
a pang so hard I vomited bile.

Rosie took me to the dollhouse church
I asked her God to let me dream,
or to die,
but I was given nothing.

So I glued my eyelids open,
stared up into the roof,
and waited for an answer.

I tried for so long.
I’ll say it again,
I tried for so long.

She left after the second week,
so I crawled up in a fetal position,
the womb of the World engulfing me

a progenitor I never had.

✮

Human is predicated on the conceptual.
An impersonation of knowing,
love and hate.

I am finally hugged.

✮

Why did you send me here?
The licked salt strips the ground,
my neighbour does not smile,
and my lip bleeds when I pick at it.

The little lamb crawls out of the soil,
sees that his wool is white
and runs, runs, runs.

The lamb of acceptance -
I baa at the mirror,
and my reflection
makes a little more sense.

Acceptance is a punctured lung
in which orchids grow,
and I am barely here
but breathing is easier.

I miss you,
and I’ll come home,
but I’m here now.

COLLECT 4 EVER

◞┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈◟









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book with serena

The bottle she had shattered drew nothing from the merriment of the evening.
More faces and more wine flowed into the scene. Jackets we’re draped over every
hook and chair, every surface was occupied by a glass. The dinner they had shared
could scarcely fill half their plates and they had run out of olives in the early
hours of the evening. The loud voices on either side of her meant there was no
clear approach to harnessing her friend’s attention.
The room darkened for a moment as her brain tried to find an equilibrium
after all the blood had drained from it. She nodded through the barricades of
hands gripping her clavicle and mouths emptying the popular question of whether
she was feeling alright. If there were no faces in the window, she could collect
herself on the fire escape. Otherwise her salvation awaited her to her right, in the
bathroom.

There was no need for compromise, the wind welcomed her, and pulled
the door shut behind her. “Chivalry,” she thought, for she knew who was acting
through the current. She blushed. She was glad he’d come. He swept the hair from
her face.
It was bliss, to feel him wrapping around her. The mist that slit her skin
with each gust was invigorating. She spoke into the night, she asked him to take
her. The cold wetness of the air scorched her cheeks, her nose, her chin. He was
holding her face. Her blood turned to helium and pressed against her skin from
within. But the desire grew painful. She felt a knife penetrate her abdomen, and as
it withdrew itself, her womb yielded to the pressure and imploded. She shut her
eyes, wincing, feeling the blood, the cramp. Still, he held her face as she bled.
The railing was there for her to lean on, though she didn’t realize this until
the cold metal shot through her palms, a cluster of bullets, sending a shock up her
veins. She opened her eyes and beheld it: the gate that kept them separate, open. It
was a tiny garden, with a tiny table and chairs, a tiny bicycle, a tiny boulder. A
tiny, perfect world, she thought, and it was far enough to take her to him.
She heard his voice. She heard the plucking of his guitar strings. She
hadn’t listened to anything else in months. She was so lonely, and she had been
for a very, very long time.

“Come on, Night,” she heard him sing to her. She saw him but he did not
beckon to her.

(...)

cleo

here

In a Babylonian theatre beyond time, the magician must perform one final trick—the spell of BRI’A (creation).

BRI’A was made as part of the "Run n Gun" 48 hours film competition. Creating a solo full 3D short in such a short time is an impossible task, thankfully my main life saver was my ‪Rokoko motion capture suit. The film was made entirely in Blender and rendered in cycles. To hit the deadline, I pushed my original render to just 4 seconds per frame (an extremely unrecommended experience). This version was rendered with 1500 samples per frame. Title cards, compositing and even last minute depth of field were all done in after effects.


Directed and Animated by Ori Peer
Original music by tomer hubsch

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