Author: pimpod

On this edition of the Quiet Space, a monastic journey through blue-lit haze; fractured drone vignettes unravel, tense nocturnal currents weave chaotic, shimmering urban shadows.

On this edition of the Quiet Space…..Spectral fragments drift, ectoplasm murmurs; time collapses, AI reweaves absence into haunted patterns, impossible echoes bloom from fractured memory.

Another cloud drifted past, soft as breath. Beneath it, the sea inside me stirred—quiet, vast, remembering names I hadn’t spoken in years.

Drifting through night skies,
Stars whisper secrets softly,
Almost smoking dreams.

Illuminations bloom,
hands rinse on melted mountains,
soothed by tones—
ambient whispers hum through steam.