Leon

Piotr Feru Inns

An individual named Leon commences the story on a grey square inbetween office buidlings. He does not know how he got here, his memories he can not decipher. He is pulled towards a puddle of water, in need of relief from his stressful confusion.

His socks get wet and, embarassed, he walks towards the bus stop and leans on its side. The bus comes and the driver is a very beautiful woman for her age. Leon walks towards the end, for which he has to make no less than four turns in this spacious bus. He stares at the bus driver until it destracts her enough to cause an accident.

The bus seat bent his leg into another knee and rushing over the red ground, Leon goes to sit under a tree and accept the sun unto his frowning chin. A woman, who is very beautiful for her age, walks upto him, voices the air she breathes in and walks away. Leon waits for her to come back, no one else will help him otherwise, but he also knows he’s going to die one day anyways, just as he did the opposite on that grey square just now.

It was an expensive bus ride and now Leon has no way to pay for medical treatment. He’s also one of those people who walk around without knowing where their passport is. His passport is hidden between the books in the library, by a thief who disliked empty-looking libraries. People walk by Leon’s seemingly toxic hospital room like a distant television show.

Leon was a factory woodchopper and poultry activist, he had a hard time figuring out what those entailed when he was placed back into his house. His daily schedule contained only the discovery of the internet, as long as he didn’t feel motivated to attack wood or defend chicken.

His wall creaked and closed in stupidly with every uninteresting link he clicked, after which he kicked his shin against the table with no emotion whatsoever and honoured his own courage by pulling out a hair and putting it into a diamond little box together with small plastic lids and bottle caps. He jumps out of his window, steals an anchor and uses it to climb back up into his wooden house. He stares at people until they get an accident, although they usually stop paying attention to him first. He screams at every chess piece lost, wishing the other pieces would kick their fragile shins against its thick wooden head.

He walks into the park and out of it again and then back again. The park has many beautiful details that take a 3D photograph to take in, and a very high resolution to understand it. His feet smack into the ground, with a gravity as if it goes downhill and the progress as if it goes up. He sometimes doesn’t make it through in one day, but he hopes to at the very least take place next to the bloodstained grass for the night. He plays basketball with some cats and skateboards over the blue waves of the little pond; it drowns him like a salt lake. When he’s sad he goes home and tries to mold his face.

Monice in Exoworld II

It flew, it fell, push and pull. Monice is like anything else, a thing that does, wants and feels. It’s sad, lonely and very pointless. It loved * and it left * because love is like a drug, a sine wave of emotion that allows the downward gravity of the imperfection of man to derail one in all the bad ways, and Monice had no brain and could not mislead itself. The dimension of time wasn’t pleasant to Monice and so it chose another one. Knowledge is a puzzle, feeling is a cookie, and a black puzzle is more similar to a white puzzle than a cookie is to a white puzzle, and that is a fact of knowledge.

Monice is slowly expanding in the waves of its thought, an endless stream gaining radius, then separating into little beams and thus leaving gaps... Monice is exploding one way, imploding in the other, as it always was but never knew. How does knowledge reflect upon itself when there are no mirrors in the brain? All mirrors are visions, all visions are impulses, all impulses are essentially feelings and Monice feels that it is exploding and I can only agree. Can’t you? It seems obvious.

LEON 2.1

I’m trying to walk on three knees, an honourless disease. If I had a fourth one, I would get funded. But risks are no natural things, so I suffer my mediocrity. Don’t be stubborn, help me walk through the park. My head dazes but the park stands still. My legs flail but the road is straight. That’s why I walk here, a thin line between stingy bushes. It would be foolish to walk through bushes!

In my next life I will be a butterfly swimming over the blue waves of green bushes. I jump from flower to flower in eternal ecstasy, I don’t get out much. In this life people say I’m bitter, but I just can’t afford to be with people who embrace and empower the ghosts that haunt me. I won’t walk into a nail and smile about it. People seek people for many reasons, subdivided into fewer reasons. These urges can also be satisfied by various products or illusions. I’m a consumer and I see people as public products that sell themselves, but they’re not very cheap! Personally, I will never again jump into the cycle of effort and pay-off, my life will stay neutral for now on. I don’t breathe in, I don’t breathe out, I just deny that I’m breathing.

LEON 2.2

Monice feels but cannot express those feelings to us. Its story can therefore only be imagined. Leon feels but claims not to, we can only tell you what he told us and laugh in harmony. Do you do something because you want something or do you want something because than you are going to do something? Neither. Are we more similar to Monice or to Leon? Neither.

We tossed Leon into a field of confusion and now he’s terribly solipsistic. He is bothered by the deceptive senses of others, appearing as objects but really undercover in the world serving the heads. Every head that conceives him will code him differently, like in some categorical dimension he will change over the course of thoughts. The product has become the abstract once again!

We relate to Leon incidentally but he is not our friend. Friends are more similar to thoughts. Leon is more like a thing, intricate and universal. Thoughts last short and we all just want to fuck, fucking is short too so you will need to go back and forth rapidly, or you will end up like Leon, lasting long, never feeling, never changing.