memory conflux

The Tale of the Four Winds and the Jade Emperor
Long ago, when the world was still young, the Jade Emperor (玉帝, Yù Dì), ruler of Heaven, noticed that the earth was chaotic. The seasons were unpredictable, crops failed, and people suffered. To bring order to the world, the Jade Emperor summoned the Four Winds—each representing a cardinal direction and a season—to his celestial palace.
The Four Winds:

East Wind (东风, Dōng Fēng) – The bringer of spring, associated with growth and renewal.
South Wind (南风, Nán Fēng) – The herald of summer, bringing warmth and abundance.
West Wind (西风, Xī Fēng) – The messenger of autumn, symbolizing harvest and change.
North Wind (北风, Běi Fēng) – The force of winter, representing cold and stillness.

"The winds, the sea, and the moving tides are what they are. If there is wonder and beauty and majesty in them, science will discover these qualities. If they are not there, science cannot create them.” [1]
Nature does not turn out her work according to a single pattern; she prides herself upon her power of variation. [2]
"Heaven and earth are one finger; all things are one horse." [3]

[1] Rahel Carson, Under the Sea Wind
[2] Seneca, Complete Works
[3] Zhaongzhi)

Twelve envoys from the Occidental lands of Europe plummet through the hazy Shenzhen sky. They descend like fat strange birds without wings, like without parachutes, their bodies cutting through clouds and smog alike. The city below spreads out in a glittering tapestry of steel and glass, indifferent to the peculiar rain of diplomats falling toward its streets.

Each envoy tumbles through the air with a curious grace, as if gravity itself can't quite decide what to make of these unexpected visitors. Their formal attire flutters in the wind, ties whipping like pennants, briefcases still clutched in white-knuckled hands. The scene is as absurd as it is mesmerizing – twelve figures suspended between heaven and earth, between West and East, between the rational and the impossible.

The sprawling metropolis of Shenzhen waits below, its forest of skyscrapers reaching upward like mechanical fingers, as if to catch these falling dignitaries. The air grows thicker, warmer, more real with each passing second of their descent. Yet there's no panic in their faces, no screams piercing the wind. They fall as if this is precisely what they came to do, as if this is just another item on their aero-economic agenda.

Considered “priests”, they are keeping peace: [5] The practice of everyday life. The older generation, masters at life, serve the spirit of Shenzhen. Wang Fu of the Ducts resets the meridian, unseen. [6] But that spirit, if it was visible on the streets of the city, scrap development rises.[4] Again, we must look to the truth or, rather, self–regulated integrity. [2] For old people, their attachment to the place where they were conceived, born, or grew up defines their connection to specific Ancestral Beings. Decades of regulating, spirit and disciples, together. [1] Do you know where the priest lives?
[3] —, “FEEL User Interface.”

It’s a late October night and thick air fills the streets. I get my phone out and open TikTok. Snippets of people talking and eating food, cats and dogs acting cute cross my screen.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the endearing man, who liked talking about his wife. [2] I can still recollect that I thoroughly disliked his appearance. [15] The image is slightly blurry, and the expression on his face and the extreme perspective create a sense of anxiety. [3] Does this make sense? Another visit to the priestess should help with this.

[7] The bulletin on the door says, “We are open.” I step in. [9] At a secure distance from the shelf, a heavy armchair establishes a living room culture in brown. An old lady of small stature glances, rushes over to me and says: Your memory. [11] Its quality is bad, its
resolution substandard. I will help with getting rid of the scraps. [5] We humans need to sort (organize, classify, formalize, order, structure) a list to make it usable (so we can retrieve the items in it) and to make it meaningful (so we can organize ideas and things by hierarchies or orders of causation).

She hands me a headband with wires attached and gestures me to put it on.
[4] But think of this. [8] The book is a room; the room is a book. I try to humor her ramblings: Do you read the room the same way you read a book? She smiles and replies: [1] Why can we not remember, step by step, how we make a sentence? Think of details. [12] It is easy to forget […] when you’re numbed by [13] […] a circulating data stream, its particular content irrelevant.

While putting on the headband the odd pet jumps onto the table. The old woman remarks: This one [14] will guide our interaction with […] experience today. A raven, clad in black, hops into my lap, ruffling its feathers. I started petting its head like second nature and remember the smell of nicotine of that day in my apartment. [17] When we remember something, our memory is of the last time we remembered it.

[1] Doherty, Is Landscape Essays on the Identity of Landscape
[2] Clarke, Design Anthropology Object Culture in the 21st Cen.
[3] Siemens, A Companion to Digital Literary Studies
[4] Ascott, Engineering Nature
[5] Boomen, Digital Material Tracing New Media in Everyday Life
[6] Schaefer, Lens Laboratory Landscape Observing Modern Spain

[1] Siemens, A Companion to Digital Literary Studies
[2] Kinder, Transmedia Frictions The Digital the Arts and the Humanities
[3] Gaudreault, A Companion to Early Cinema
[4] Carpo, The Second Digital Turn Design Beyond Intelligence
[5] Borschke, This Is Not a Remix Piracy Authenticity and Popular Music
[7] Ascott, Engineering Nature
[8] Banner, Communicative Biocapitalism The Voice of the Patient in Digital Health and the Health Humanities
[9] Scott Contreras Koterbay, The New Aesthetic and Art: Constellations of the Postdigital
[10] Acland, The Arclight Guidebook to Media History and the Digital Humanities
[11] Wendt, The Allure of the Selfie Instagram and the New Self Portrait

A . they show us how the world works, they are not the banishment story from the Old Testament, they are the bridge(s!) to worlds.

B. they are the 4 elephants/atlas that carry the world.

C. they are the memory of the world

D. they are the overseers of the world ‘workshop’ throughout history. From the invention of the wheel, the establishment of mankind, to an indefinable future.

E. they are the white pages of the book in which the world events are written.

In the bustling heart of Shenzen, there exists a figure shrouded in mystery and allure: Wang Fu, the renowned harmony spirit of Zhujiang, the bedtime stories saucier of nocturnal tales. Known for his peace bringing lullaby that dances through the electrified night-skies, Wang Fu is a legend among those who wander the city's shadowy corners after dusk. His spirit resides in the ventilation systems of Shenzen.

Wang isn't just a storyteller; he's a weaver of dreams, a whisperer who sends his narratives fluttering into the wind. His tales are not mere words but spells that resonate with the rhythm of the streets. Each story he tells is said to recalibrate the twelve meridians of the delta, aligning them with the cosmos in a harmony only he can orchestrate.

[1] Hugo, Les Miserables
[2] Joyce, Ulysses

Another medium created at the hands of Wang Fu. [1] He designed and built astonishingly complicated automata whose technological prowess has never been surpassed. [2] AIBO is consciously designed as a robot, without fur or soft skin or even eyes. [3] Live, or almost live […]. They act as a medium between minds and bridge the gap of conscientiousness.

[1] Boradkar, Encountering Things Design and Theories of Things
[2] Bureaud, MetaLife Biotechnologies Synthetic Biology ALife and the Arts
[3] Cameron, Drama and Digital Arts Cultures Methuen Drama Eng

Springs wind is calling. Well, when it’s blowing outside, you might want to put on a dust-coat to help ward off the wind. Go, see things of priceless beauty, that are entrusted with the task of giving us our impressions of everyday life. [1]
Take us by the hand and lead us to see from place to place the rooms of those who live in the city, leaving nothing out that is fitting for utility, comfort and beauty. [2]

[1] Proust, In Search of Lost Time Vol V The Captive The Fugitive
[2] Williams, Daniele Barbaros

"Dave", a name whispered with derision among the celestial spirits, bears an indelible mark of shame. His banishment from their hallowed ranks remains a wound that refuses to heal. Born as a mere gecko, his existence is a constant reminder of his perceived inferiority. The High Seat of the Eldery, a symbol of ultimate power and prestige, remains an elusive dream, yet Dave clings to the hope that his time will eventually come.

Once, "Dave" had been just another gecko, scampering across the walls of the celestial palace, watching the gods weave the fabric of reality with their divine computations. With a determination forged in the fires of rejection, "Dave" embraces his primal instincts, knowing that true animalistic force multiplied a hundred times can uncover the elusive spirit of Wang Fu. Nestled deep in clandestine workshops hidden beneath the city's pulsating core, "Dave" crafts digital entities from the very fabric of the virtual realm.

Birthed from the dark arts of body-shaming, gaslighting, and blackmail, virtual data flow of malice resentment takes shape. First cockroaches, then flying fish, foaming rats. Their collective rage transforms them finally into seagulls, avian specters of malice and intent.
"Dave", the architect of their creation, dispatches these spectral seagulls into the swirling air currents of Shenzhen. Their mission is clear: to seek out and disturb the tranquility of Wang Fu, a figure revered for his aura of peace and equality. As they descend upon him in the ventilation labyrinths, their presence is a blight upon his pristine white robes, staining them with disgrace and venomous disdain.

[1] The word "chengguan" has even taken on an alternate meaning in Chinese. "Don't be too chengguan" means to not bully or terrorize. In other words, chengguan has literally become synonymous with violence. On the lookout for rare senior citizens in Shenzhen, their daily routine has become asking for permits.

[1] Austin Ramzy, Above the Law?

The Eternal Song of Harmony

Mei Lian left her place and walked to the nearby park, seeking peace away from the hustle and bustle of the city. She found a bench by the pond and enjoyed the stillness of nature for a moment. Soon, it became her daily habit to sit there every morning, watching the play of light and water and listening to the gentle rustling of the wind in the trees. The first passersby gave her curious glances, but no one spoke to her. Mei Lian had found her place.

One morning, as she sat peacefully on the bench, the silence was suddenly broken by the loud ringing of a phone. A man in a suit, with a tablet on his lap and a coffee cup in his hand, sat on the bench next to hers, deeply engrossed in a tense conversation.

After finishing the call, he looked at Mei Lian. "You sit here often, don’t you?" he asked. "And you bring your work into the park," she replied calmly. He laughed briefly. "It’s the only place I’m not in the office, but somehow it still feels like I am."

Over time, her bench became a meeting point for those seeking a break from city life.

Mei Lian-The Resonance of the Park

A golden bag, timeless and sealed. It carries no objects, only memories—fleeting voices, lost moments. A talisman against forgetting in a city that outruns itself. "My purse?"[1]
BLOOM: "A talisman."[2]

the high seat of the elderly counsil

FUTIAN RAILWAY STATION AND URBAN VILLAGE SCENARIOS

about cow demons and snake spirits

https://xqn.163.com/guide/lszq/zqzs.html

peering through the minds to see the city

develop locations of characters

fonts as shifts between characters
figures/objects as characters

hong kong express, a way of duplicating
what is the past of city, invent the past
mythology

more finer details like relationships between characters
-build a stronger dialectic approach
-adress the youth stronger
-build a third topic to avoid only dual stereotypes
-too polite, needs more charged titles
to make it more cheeky, stress the topics

formats which bring in different speeds
-bsp bulletpoints
-shoutsw
-recipes
-poems
-advertisments

comparison of older generation
between western and eastern

I used to take my fried eggs off of a mirror
Now I just walk around and stare at people in the park
They re scary

I should document everything
The neighbors doesnt must seeing me peeing in their garden
They mustn’t
Unless they're all in on it
Unless they're all wearing marzipan green sweatshirts when I'm not looking

I am Goldmund and you are Narziss. I am Arielle, Tony Hawk, I am the energy of spring, I am the albatross which wants to fly forever

God, when was the last time I ate something?
The coffee's gone cold in my hands
My hands
Are these even my hands anymore?
I keep counting my fingers
One two three four five
One two three… hey where is everybody?

The city scape stretches on. Lined with the grey as some spots of color pop out.
Red Pink Green and Yellow
Rushed along with the crowd. Crammed into an elevator.
In a space of transcience as I lose myself in the journey.
A space outside space with persons I have come into to contact only the last minute. Where do we get spit out?
I come out still surrounded by dark coats and hats. The crowd loosens as the briefcases brush past my legs. I’m on the rooftop, the breeze stronger than usual.

You think I care about what's happening to me?
Even my demons have demons

The treachery Orchester is playing games with me
They can mess very bad bad with my feelings.
Aren't mom jokes their own kids?
Ha ha, that hurts
The healthiest response to life is joy.

I’m not guilty, I’m just an operator.
I shouldn’t be responsible for what I say.
Someone else should be responsible for what I say.
I apologize a trillion times.
I’m not interested in knowing, I’m just tired.
If I keep eating this delusional garbage, it will stick to the roof of my mouth.
Got no money in my pocket, but I’m already here.
Tik Tok on the clock.
I like some Gaga songs—what the fuck does she know about cameras?
It’s not even Gaga.
Which guild? Which craft?
Strip off my dirty socks.
One could say that a person’s humanity diminishes as they abandon thinking.
My neighbors, oh my neighbors, I hope I don't run into them in the stairwell.
Work. Manufacture. Act.
Rule of Nobody.
Not least, no, I never think about the Bonum Commune.

Remember the lovely evening at the beach,
the many beautiful people walking along the see,
my mother calling us for dinner
But in that moment We were just captivated by a couple dancing in the pristine sands of Monterey Bay

Love is a intense feeling of deep affection
When I last saw Linda, she told me she never wanted to see or speak to me ever again in her life
She doesn't get it, nobody gets it
Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

the earth is not for the pleasure of man, but a place of instruction for his soul
only the limited sense of man let him believe that imperfection isnt perfect for the purpose

Fog swirls, swallowing the streets in silence. Faint footsteps. Mine? Someone else's?
A flicker of red in the gray—a rusted door, a warning light .I turn a corner.
A figure stands, unmoving. Not Mary. Never Mary.
The radio crackles, a warning too late. I run, but the fog never ends.
This smell too, why does something familiar linger in the air?
What is this is scent? Smells like gratin and gravy, of the days I met at home..

you crave the forbidden lamp
but brother seek the light do not sacrifice yourself in the devouring fire
light is further than infinity, further away than life from death
A champion is defined not by their wins but by how they can recover when they fall.
ow, this fajita is hot!
Spicy food is what happens when flavor meets fire.
Heat is temporary, but the memory of good spice lasts forever

IN A SPACE OF TRANSCIENCE I LOSE MYSELF TO THE JOURNEY

I'm on a cliff. really windy. I don't know why I'm here.
the only thing preventing me from flying off
is this big rectangular boulder that's blocking the wind.

The gray shape is breathing  Coming closer I noticed it was just a whale

I made haste to finish my pork puffs, I can tell you.
Now I can negotiate from a position of strength
the whale was asleep and snoring,   timbering whole Forests, (tian na)
I tried to push back the body to its place of origin  I heard the sea, but I couldn’t see it  

I turned my head around 
The cliff apparently was the roof terrace of a skyscraper  the clear impression, I was at the coast of the Pearl River  is lost  Is this place real?
Somehow I have the impression a long time has passed  

I see many obelisks surrounding me like many hands reaching towards the sky
as if trying to touch the heavens themselves
will they pull the sky down, when they reach the heaven?
They surround me, silent sentinels of stone
but the real Tower of Babel is yet unbuilt

 Not a tower of power and application
it is a beacon of unity, a house that embraces the entirety of humanity,
A house of the whole world and friendship
Reaching from our Republic
To the Outerworld of the Occident
Here, the walls are not of stone but of understanding,  and the true strength lies in the bonds we forge, reaching ever higher  

I want to know how it is possible  Who will help me  first I must go back  I need to take the breath the wind and sink back on ground zero  I look down   The sea were surface of thoughts and there were machines floating on the souls
It is a surface alive with possibilities, reflecting the depth and breadth of human imagination  the machines can choose any possible character, I call it “riding”
The machines do ask sensible questions, and little by little, they’ll understand  that  

 through mirroring you fail to grasp the power of creation mirrors you use to gaze on the beauty of the face,   but only through works of art you can grasp the beauty of the soul  listen to the river, it will tell you  in the language of water  in the language of the mountains
a star is born in the chaos

Prepare yourself to connect with the countless droplets  that have gathered in this endless sea. Each droplet, a story, a journey, a part of the vast tapestry that is life. 
I will lead you to the souls whos dreams are dozing in unconscious  wandering in the city’s labyrinth of glass and steel
Their charge is dormant, their vibrant childhood is long gone  they are the people of the city you are looking upon
In the solitude of the straying soul lays the power of the many

Their true desires, Qin Shi, I shall present you know
Come closer

I find myself adrift amid a sea of nameless faces. People swirl around me, marching to the rhythm of their nine-to-five existence, yet I remain a solitary observer, detached from their world, uninterested and unknown.
Perhaps they will vanish soon, leaving nothing but fleeting memories.
The park visits, the monotonous Qigong exercises—once tedious, now missed.
I yearn for them now. They offered a sense of belonging, a perspective, a path. In my mind's eye, I see her—my grandmother, the woman in the park. Back when acquaintances meant something, she was my beacon.
The House of Friends seemed like a refuge, a place of shared bonds, a contrast to the delusional garbage of today.
A voice whispers of change. I want to commit, to serve a purpose.
to where I once stood with her, feeling anchored and secure.
Life here feels like that—disorienting, a series of questions without answers.
If only I could understand what the old woman in the salmon pink snakeskin jacket wants from me, maybe I'd find peace.
I'm not interested in knowing. I'm just tired.Somewhere along the way, something went wrong.
Returning to the park, I seek solace in the familiar bench by the pond.
The city’s noise fades into the background as I lose myself in the gentle rustling of leaves.
The park becomes my sanctuary, a place where I rediscover fragments of the past, where I once found connection and meaning.
Yet, within its chaos, moments of clarity and peace can still be found.
Perhaps, in embracing these fleeting connections, I might find my way back to where I truly belong.
The House of Friends.

My apartment was small, just a tiny fragment in this vast machinery. The faithful old fridge rattled, two clocks ticked against each other, and somewhere outside, someone honked in the middle of the night. All of it had become familiar by now. But tonight, there was a new sound. A faint scratching, a rustling, as if something unknown were sneaking into my world.
I tried to ignore it. Tomorrow was another day at the office, another day of wandering through the city without truly belonging anywhere.  A place where people built together, lived together. A thought that settled in my mind like a song that wouldn't leave.
The rustling grew louder. Was it a mouse? Or just the city itself, calling me? I sat up, switched on the light, and reached for my glasses. My eyes fell on the empty desk. It had been standing there unused for weeks, a surface once meant for ideas.
Shenzhen was a place where anything was possible—for others. But maybe I could change that. Maybe I could become part of something more real than all the meetings, all the meaningless conversations. I grabbed my phone and searched for the address of "House of Friends."
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. A sound that reminded me of home, of a place I had long lost. But maybe, just maybe, I would find it again here.

VECTOR TO SKY

A mild day in the Central Business District of Shenzhen as the cloud give way to sunrays.
Clanging and grinding can be heard within the crowd of sounds. While people in suits walk the plazas and roads filled with silent electric cars buzz, the house stands. Growing.
 Among the crowds of people I hear whispers of the House of Friends. An ongoing project with no end in sight. How can something like that exist within the city. Buildings have a clear schedule, a clear program, a clear ending. But the one I’m looking at right now is clearly growing. Gathering people and their experiences then output into a structure of use, a house of ideas. A void within the city, not lack of chaos but a different expression of it.
This city is fast, so fast infact that you have to drop everything to keep up with the speed. To each their own I thought. All ideas come from their own person after all. But could you use this speed to streamline separate ideas into an understanding? A vector of growth only possible together.
 My step slows down as I inch closer to the sight. I can see the stalk, the heavy core of concrete and steel, twisting itself into the sky. It’s sides lined with stages able to display different atmospheres. Cold, warm, cozy or distant the platforms stretch into our world itself, as if trying to escape this House of Friends. Weirdly enough the crowd thins around the building with only curious onlookers left. Some wander in and some stumble out but all carried the expression of epiphany. Approaching the entrance I see a pair of people arguing. One points to the stairs and complains how his friend can’t enter the building himself. The other man, confused to what he meant starts to understand the lack of accessibility. I ignore them and start walking up into the core. 10 steps later one of them yells “Elevator!”

SMELLY STAIRWELL

As the steps give way I notice the different materialities. From textured clay to bumpy aluminum the steps carried me to the first opening. Light smoke from incense curled up the frame lures me in with the warm light seeping into the core. The sound of silverware clinking ceramic rings throughout the space. People looking out the windows, some whispering and some laughing.

Clay pots, plastic containers and lush vines cross the beige tiles. The air is damp but cool,The wooden floor creaks as I enter the tea room. For me a nice refresher after climbing the stairs. While the lives of people go on at an incredible rate below the greenery here seems to slow mine down. The room isn't big enough for trees but the potted plants seem to able to house spirits as well. They remind me of back home and my time with my great uncle. A different mobility has been transported into this city and shared with others.  Two floors up I decide to peek in the opening. The smell of chicken broth hits my face like a wave of applause. Compared to the other floors this one seems small but just as filled with life. Small tables surrounded by seated people slurping on noodles contently. A view I know far too well but the moment so far away for me. I hesitate to join a table, forgotten how if I need food first to strike up a topic.
Where is the food? No sight of a kitchen or a counter of sorts but food still being made.  Now at the top of the "stalk" I see gray smoke rising. A old woman in a fold-able camping chair sitting next to a small fireplace. Her gaze towards the sky squinting as if trying to read the stars. I sneak to stand beside her and stare off into the sky. No words were exchanged but both of us knew the stars can't be grasped.

Not until we build higher...

Seeing this “tree of life” I couldn’t help but wonder: Can I grow with it as well?