Master MOdule meta archıtektur

grasp the fısh

BETREUER

Chris Garcia Argüelles

    It starts with a last scene before we death, which was recorded by our eyeballs.
Inspired by this, I tried to create a eye blinking situation between scenes.
Some scenes are especially gloomy and suffocating, while others are so calm and relaxing.  - disturbingly simple and boring -

    As if depicting some kind of anxiety attack. With the losing inspiration, the feeling of failure takes over. When we lost our last hopes, we started to obey the system and become a part of it. But suddenly during our boring daily routine, inspiration comes back to us.  -Sometimes dying is necessary to be reborn.

    It was my first analyse of the chapter. I tried to show the feeling of dislocation, which is especially emphasized in text, in the clip, as if it were a lucid dreaming of consciousness through the eyes of the protagonist. While analyzing the chapter, multiple scenes came to mind. So l prepared separate collages for each of them. Therefore, there are 4 main scenes and 3 minor scenes to facilitate the transitions between these scenes.

    Like an every anxiety attack it starts with the suffocating scenes like stormy beach. Then from the reflexion of the protoganist it follows to the second one the inside of the retina, which is suppossed to be disturbingly boring. Then finalize with the getting out of the water and arriving to a calmy sunny beach.


windy hill scene
stormy beach scene
inside of a retina scene
sunny beach scene

MESSRS.
EXTERNAL & COUNTING

To grasp a fish

" It is said that our eyeballs record the last thing we see before we die. That there is a biological pigment locked tight in the back of the retina whose proteins bleach inlight and recover in the dark, leaving some images outlined like drawings in acolouring book. Maps, of a sort.
We look down on these awful people and their endless capacity for enhancement. Sometimes we’re so far above the world, it’s like an electric train set, rigid in its respect of hygiene and good behaviour. There’s slow music on every loudspeaker, it’s sick really. We see the roosters beckoning the morning with their wicked crows. We see sheep flocking. Sheep too being just careless and colloquial terms for ourown insomnia, for how we shepherd in the clouds around us at night like a careful map of cosiness.
And we worry. Of course we do. There are no instructions to live by. No handbook found on special shelves in the elevators of freehold owners. There is little but the wind to guide our hapless folk. Sometimes even our own miraculous wit fails us and we need a rest from demand, from the supply of calibration. We think get a real job and what happens then? We pause for a minute as the world rains its fluorescent ash down on us. We sit motionless for a time, perched upon a point of rocks, fishing lines merry between our knees and suddenly there is the bright spanking future. It jumps up and takes our bait and we are happy. We think even in this maze of grimy back gardens and freakish bimbos there is a pale forehead worthwiping down.
Yes, we need tea. At least we understand that mortal necessity. How it helps torealise one has survived the gentle death of awakening and it’s ok to put shoes on.

We Messrs. do believe in magic. "

Marten, Helen. "The Boiled in Between", page 195-196.