The International Date Line
Along the International Date Line, in a far-off corner of the world, lies a tiny, remote patch of land with a small stone marker. Etched into the marker are the following words:
"Here lie the last remains of every second, every minute, every hour, and every day. Every month and every year meet their final end on this spot, never to be revived or experienced again."
Centuries later, after the calendar and the time zones had been revised to greater precision, this lost marker was believed to be obsolete. But the traditional burial sites of the days, months, and years remained, and through forces beyond human control, the final remains of these lost vestiges of time have continued to accumulate.
Since then, virtually no travelers have ventured into this long-forsaken site, but those who have managed to make the journey have been overwhelmed with vast primordial sensations of timelessness, nostalgia, and déjà vu, all rolled into a single, peculiar and unshakeable feeling.
The Mama
In a distant land, the people all revere and adore, The Mama. In their remote, enclosed society, every person harbors generational trauma passed on from a parent. Each one of those parents carries their own trauma from their parents as well. And so this lineage of generational trauma from progeny to progenitor travels all the way back to one singular person who unites them all, The Mama. The Mama's likeness adorns all homes, public spaces and places of worship. All trauma and ancillary neurosis and accumulated anxiety starts with her. In a way, this is all her fault. And yet, they all love her so. Without The Mama, their society would lose all bonds, all meaning, and all sense of identity.
"Here lie the last remains of every second, every minute, every hour, and every day. Every month and every year meet their final end on this spot, never to be revived or experienced again."
Centuries later, after the calendar and the time zones had been revised to greater precision, this lost marker was believed to be obsolete. But the traditional burial sites of the days, months, and years remained, and through forces beyond human control, the final remains of these lost vestiges of time have continued to accumulate.
Since then, virtually no travelers have ventured into this long-forsaken site, but those who have managed to make the journey have been overwhelmed with vast primordial sensations of timelessness, nostalgia, and déjà vu, all rolled into a single, peculiar and unshakeable feeling.
The Mama
In a distant land, the people all revere and adore, The Mama. In their remote, enclosed society, every person harbors generational trauma passed on from a parent. Each one of those parents carries their own trauma from their parents as well. And so this lineage of generational trauma from progeny to progenitor travels all the way back to one singular person who unites them all, The Mama. The Mama's likeness adorns all homes, public spaces and places of worship. All trauma and ancillary neurosis and accumulated anxiety starts with her. In a way, this is all her fault. And yet, they all love her so. Without The Mama, their society would lose all bonds, all meaning, and all sense of identity.
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