Hear me out. There’s this philosopher from the 1890s named William James, and he coined this theory about “the multiverse” which suggests that a hypothetical set of multiple universes comprises everything that can possibly exist simultaneously.
Are you following? The entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines: It’s the idea of parallel universes. Right? So okay, let’s presume the multiverse is real.
Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you.
Maybe there’s a universe out there — happening now — where we end up together and when I close my eyes at night, I’m not dreaming the way a normal person would. Instead I’m seeing flashes of our lives in the multiverse. They’re not simple dreams because I miss you, right? They’re scientific, anachronistic visions.
In this universe, I don’t want a family, but maybe in another, I’m more of the type to settle down. Maybe there’s a universe where you hold my hand while I give birth to our daughter in a white hospital room with pink flowers and fuzzy teddy bears on the window sill. Where we take family vacations and pose for dorky pictures in our neon bathing suits on the sands of a Florida beach. Where we curl up to watch a cheesy movie at the end of a long day in our big, green, suburban house once the kids have fallen asleep.
Maybe there’s a universe where we are middle-aged and taking our child to college and bickering over where to put her dresser or what posters she should hang up. Where you kiss her on the forehead ‘goodbye’ and we drive home in contented, proud silence, your fingers grazing my knuckles, our wedding rings glistening. Where we both have gray hair and we laugh and smile and hug and drink lemonade on the porch.
Maybe there’s a universe where that’s the life I want. Where I don’t second guess everything and I’m not afraid of commitment and of the future and of love. Maybe there’s a universe without all the noise in my head and the pride that makes me so fiercely independent and the coldness in my heart that I can turn on and off like a security fence.
Maybe there’s a universe where I’m the right person for you. Where I adore every nice thing you did for me without starting to resent you. A universe where you actually end up with someone who appreciates you. Where no one becomes a doormat. Where both of us can shed our baggage and curiosity and issues. A universe where we’re happy — without wondering if that happiness is some messed-up Jenga game ready to topple at the slightest quiver. A universe where we’re comfortable and sure, and we have cats.
Maybe there’s a universe where we fall asleep next to each other every night like spoons, like two innocent bunnies — my face buried in your neck, hugging your warmth — and we both don’t want anything or anybody else. Where we don’t want more, we just want each other.
Maybe there’s a universe where I don’t covet so much all the time and where I’m content and where I don’t wonder about picking up and moving to Japan without saying anything to anyone and where at this very juncture, I can just know I’ll always want to come home and cook dinner with you.
If you think of it all this way, then it’s like neither of us did anything wrong.
You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “every when” else —us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s — we are happy.
If this theory holds, well, by the law of averages, there had to be one universe — just this one — where we don’t end up together. Here and now just happens to be it. If you think of it this way, nothing is our fault.
So see, that explains everything. We’re not together anymore because of the multiverse.
Well, isn’t that comforting?
If you’re sad, do like I do and just think of the other ‘verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don’t hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where we can have nice things. It’s helpful, right?
Because you could have loved me forever.
And maybe in another universe, I let you.”
Season’s out, season’s in. The new, the old, the current //
The you, the I, the u s
A LOVE YOU : I– revolution of hearts_
We are all going to die.
Question is, are we ever going to live ; in love, in space, in you and I, in us.
It is now or never, forever.
We all seem to be trapped in a life that is not ours. Caged. Static. We’ve been on pause for a whole lot of time gone to utter trash now. And it’s been so long. So fucking long. Is this all we will ever be? What’s the matter with us? What’s wrong with us? What’s always right with us, we fire back saying. And it’s not simply, just another we’re sick of it all, coming of age, phase and thing, another stupid passing trend out of the countless many. It is life, life itself and then it’s us, you - this platform, the world. It is a feeling, spaced in and out and all around us, it is not hate and it is not love but something, something in-between, a non-feeling, feeling. One, that never seems to start, yet too, never ever seems to stop, or fade away for that matter. A robotically paused one, a feeling hungrily so feeding from life, life itself, exhausting it to bits – a feeling championing death; making it, be the one now calling the shots for you and I, and us.
It is everywhere we turn our heads to look at; it crashes our hearts and blacks out our spirit, it rules out our dreams, sucking out our youth and caging, shoving our freedom away. A feeling, so violently forced on us; poisoning our present, blatantly so killing off, our very own future – a wrecked out leftover version of a feeling, sneakily now forcing its way into our heads, muting out our hearts. A feeling, a fucking pause, in everything we, ever were, in whatever it is, that we still at this moment right now, are and in everything, and anything we ever dreamt of being.
The thing is, we don’t know about you world, but we are miles and miles away from that - we run and run and run, the more they pause all else for us, the more we disappear, and run, and feel. And we’ve had enough of them, and we’ve had enough of this, and we are so fucking sick of any and all of that, so bloody sick of them, of this second rated, staged version of a life, and reality.
We are so fucking unhappy, and that is exactly how they want us to be. They want us, gone, dead, on pause. They were the ones to put us, on a fucking pause. Society, politics, and economy – a whirlwind of people, and rules, and happenings, all in crisis, all dirty handedly lived out and forced upon us. A never ending, never anything, cycle of useless digits and papers and robots, of rules and mentalities, of blind ignorance. Of people, of muppets, of them; them and money; we have no money. We could care less about money – and even if, and obviously so because of that, because of them we cannot now afford life nor our dreams and future; we sure as hell, can still feel it - and that is something, they cannot or ever will take away from us;
And, see, we wouldn’t have it any other way. Yes, our heads are vandalized, concrete filled, graffiti stained walls, walls sprayed with abruptly put there, boldly scripted question marks blocking out all else, question marks perplexing life, perplexing us, followed suit by violently rushed in and put on, full stops - full stops claiming, ruining it all. Our heads, and lives have gone missing, idle. We, the ghosts behind those, now left aside to blankly exist ‘till they die, walls – we are all in ruins. And them, it is all about them, it is all on them, it is all their doing. But they are wrong, because we were never ones to live, following our heads, we were never that; and our hearts now, our hearts are museums filled with images upon images, images poetically drawn, images splattered in colors, and dreams, and feelings. Images that even if, with our minds, and current states of being and all our long lost futures and selves, now gone, they refuse to leave us, refuse to let us die. Our hearts; they wont ever let us go. And we don’t want ‘em to; and we wont ever let them to.
We hate money, we hate logic – we crave, we want, we are magic.
Us, the lucky ones. We are here, still safe and sound.
But the clocks ticking,
And we are not forever. And it is so sad and stupid and ridiculously absurd how another season’s almost out, just as our lives at one point, sooner or later will be. Gone, without actually lived. Skipped. Wasted. Saturated in grey, washed out, a life gone unfelt - a life acted all out: no dreams, no love, no risks, no glory. Rehearsed, but never actually lived.
We are so over and out, and so done with seeing the robots taking over, of clones and cheap imitations of people violating all our rights with their wrongs, people without souls, on a mission to steal and claim ours, people starved, people after our own, in pieces and mentally tattered, hearts. Those one’s who are never going to die, because they are never - never have, never will - ever going to live, even if they steal, and claim and rip ours apart.
But here’s the catch. We wont let them to, we cannot let them to. And as we are onto, and in search of something tremendously big now, something only you along us, along I - can only possibly do - we want you to abruptly, recklessly so turn your lives upside down, to turn all the lights out. We challenge you, as we challenge ourselves now. To turn away from all the bullshit, turn away from them all. Fucking ignore the pause button, all the in-betweens and the clinically dead current life statures of yours, silence all their fucking noises and rules and faultily scripted lives. We want you, to turn it all off. Turn it all off. Make it all stop, trash it all away and then start, and stop. And start again. You ready -?
A bet is a bet and this one here is ours to be: we dare you to follow us suit, to make a list - get your shit together and write down ten things you wanna experience, things you always had in the back of your head, things your heart always claimed center front space for ’em, for you to do and live and feel, but you – you were always, on the almost of doing ‘em. Almost there, but never here; so let me tell you something. Almost is, and will never ever be enough, for none of us. And we got no time, but now_
Name ten things, name a thousand things - things you wanna do before you die, name them, feel ‘em sending lil’ tingling shivers down your spine, scream them out loud ‘till your lungs hurt, your head’s spinning and your heart’s gone all boom, boom. Find all those things that haunt you, the ones you love to hate, and hate to love – find them, bring them back, go at them – live them, and then kill ‘em to no end. Set them free, set your selves free. Turn all your wrongs to rights, and then turn them all back again.
From a silly skinny dipping, to being in two places at once, from taking chances, any and all chances thrown at you - to moving out or moving in, living in the moment for once, for seconds to spare, to kissing a stranger and dancing your heart out till the wee hours of the night, from championing and worshipping your scarred faults, to stop missing out on things, on people, on life because you are to scared to, from lighting up your darkness to becoming the best version of you, to fucking finally tell the one you care the most about, in this goddamn world, the one whose name popped in your thoughts right this second now, to tell ‘em you hate them even you don’t, even if they do too, to tell ’em you love them even if they still refuse to love you back - If that’s the case then love ‘em some more. Go out, and become friends, lovers, and dreamers with anyone, and everyone that crosses your path. We dare you, the many of you, the one of you to go out and become that person, to live that life, to love that much. We dare ourselves to become that person for you! A living, screaming invitation of love, to love – to love out loud.
Write ten things down and then go on, tell your friends, tell strangers, tell the world - tell them to put on a list too and then dare them to dare you back! Take a risk; take many risks, step away from your current realities, just step away from it all, even if it’s just for a minute’s time, step away. Go out and do all those things, society, them robots and those crazy loud, creepily silent voices inhabiting your head and all its matters, up until this point, ‘em told you not to. It could be one thing it could be ten. Show ‘em, who’s in charge now, show’ em who you really are.
Take the list, and turn it into a compass pointing out all dreams, and feelings, and people. Especially them. People, the ones inhabiting your soul, inhabiting you. All paint splattered, in colors and light. In you, in them;
Go out, and love your hearts out. We dare you to finally put a stop, a full fucking stop to that pause button, causing havoc inside your head. Rip those walls apart. We dare you to (re) start your heart. With this bet, this campaign, this movement we dare you to li (ea.) ve – leave all the bullshit aside, leave them, people behind. We dare you to love. Love you, love us, and love I – It all starts and ends with us, you.
It all just is, an alternate universe, an alternate everything. It’s a bundling mess of colors, of colors bursting in and shaking it all off, shaking you off. It is all those luminous points falling down the sky, igniting you and the darkness you dwell in. It is you and I, and the fictional world our souls make such an unhealthy habit of recklessly sketching inside us, painted drafts of a distant happiness - a world where we both secretly compose an inconceivable tale within, a world out of this golden barred, grey veiled cage. Its heartbreaking, heart stopping. It is everything, and then it is nothing. Freeing. So go, go, fucking live it, and be it all.
Forget all about them robots, money and ego, forget all about the future. We dare you to prove them wrong. We dare you to change. Change yourselves, change reality, and then, too, change the world. We dare you, to dare us, to illuminate our darkness. To cast spells, to shake it all off, to live.
We dare you, and like this we dare us.
Take pictures, make notes, document it all out in messily, blurred lines and recklessly sketched scribbles, every little thing you tick off the list, go on tell the world and then tell us, show us! Dare us back – and we will dare you some more. Lets turn this into our own never-ending thrill seeking journal, of telling and retelling our stories, capturing memories and crowning our feelings. Turning our moments of now, into forever, a forever we all so secretly, as stars, as stars falling wish more than anything, for. A love collective of all sorts, a real bound, imaginary not, public display of hearts, of hearts spreading love, of living out loud, of us. Our very own, heart-book.
Its time to show off our souls,
Details to follow sui t
a t hlaotveedotcom
hlaotvee // live.com
"Its life 101, darling." I remember them, little voices inside my head, tiny little creatures rolling their eyes incredulously at me, calling out the shots, telling me."The way you go after things, the way you feel and the way you do the things you do, the things you passionately so, crave and want and relentlessly lust after, the things you secretly wish upon a star for, night after night, a star crowded sky after another, all these little things and then some more, the way you name those is eventually what you name your soul after."
"Oh wow." I see them staring. I say nothing, waiting. "How do you even call that thing?" people now, state back at me. "It sounds weird. It sounds unknown. It sounds off." And so the story goes like this, once again, once more. "It is called HLAOTVEE. As in hate, as in love." They are stunned. "Why? Isn’t this supposedly so, an ongoing fashion meets art something?" they ask, curious now. "The question shouldn’t be why, but who." I tease them, them and the universe along. I laugh at the thought, laugh at their incredulous mind boggling stares, at them mouths firming widely shut and open, heads scratching followed then by a response not as immediate but sure as hell foreseeable, them doing what humans are best known to do, naming me as such, naming a thing. "You, my darling, are just like that thing of yours. Too weird, too unknown, too off."
Unusual as I am, floating in air, living in such a nonexistent reality, in such a dark place, a place called here and as the world seems to always be somehow there, a very distinct there - such a cast away unobscured there, life wanderlusting - life existing in between images and words, in staining light and unlit blackness, I as a soul, a soul carrying a body I draw everything in circles, circles connecting, connecting in eights. Drawing in a world behind closed doors, and minds, a world behind any and all grey filtered realities thrown at me. And I kinda wanted the world to see, I wanted you to see - and feel, and be. See the things I saw, the world I drew. To love the things I loved, hate the things I hated. To love I, to hate you.
So for those asking, how and then why HLAOTVEE. happened. It is all but a thing, a feeling I name my soul after.
To be in hate my darling, is to be in love -to be in love is to be in hate. In love, with love. In love with hate. There is no right or wrong, its all wrong if you ask me. There is no hate or love, its all about love. It all just is, an alternate universe, an alternate everything. Its a bundling mess of colours, of colours bursting in and shaking it all off, shaking you off. It is all those luminous points falling down the sky, igniting you and the darkness you dwell in. It is you and I, and the fictional world our souls make such an unhealthy habit of recklessly sketching inside us, painted drafts of a distant happiness - a world where we both secretly compose an inconceivable tale within, a world out of this golden barred, grey veiled cage. Its heartbreaking, heart stopping. It is everything, and then it is nothing. Freeing.
HLAOTVEE is just that, an infinite state, a map made out of feelings, of hearts, of I - of you. A compass pointing out all dreams, and feelings, and people. Especially them. People, the rare kind of, the ones you spend your whole life looking for. Those few. That one. The one you love, the one you hate. People inhabiting your soul, inhabiting you. All paint splattered, in colours and light. In you.
It was all long prolonged. Always there, a populated planet crafted in vivid imagery, of moments gone, crafted in feelings of love now buried in cement hate, a planet I lived in and out of, forever. A nonexistent in physical being, one. Until now, that is. A collective mess of creatures and places and long awaited, now long lost wasted wishes. The one place I felt like home, it was - it still is. I felt free. Free to love, free to hate. To exorcise the demons and dust them all off, to dance along with them, to dress them all up in fancy clothes, to dress them all down. To hate them, to love them. To cast spells, to find people - to make them feel, escape the cage. Escape the hate, escape you, them.
But hate, you silly thing, is just another word for love. Another lil word for such an immense feeling. And so it is, how it all began and how it all never seems to fade, never seems to end. It will never end. Because you see, love is such an absolute thing, such an absolute state, a state of the heart. And my he—art now named after HLAOTVEE, is such an absolute little thing, such an absolute you.
To be continued.
A little disclaimer, “I dont see fashion in glossily edited, printed in vain tear sheets, nor in labels and numbers, in show-stopping empty personas and fake social anthems, full in glamourised hate. I see fashion in blank, half ruined canvases, in unknown tags and graffiti hues, in never-ending streets, full blown in art - in streets of people full in love.”
XO / HLAOTVEE.COM