the hole. commentary.

13 december 2025, saturday

please note that this was written two months prior, around the time when the world hole by nonsenze was originally pushed out. the subject matter of the following post can be emotionally and mentally intense. continue reading at your own discretion.

hole.

there is no escaping the weight that this world carries once you enter.

the fog that surrounds me isn't present just in the world but in my heart and in my head. i stand before a hole that seems to be grabbing me, goading me, telling me to take a seat before it and gaze upon the memories of a time in a place of an experience that tears the soul. the energy in this world feels familiar, like a memory. not pleasant. this world shocks you upon the very first second, places you in the shoes of a person who stands before a hole in their life and in their existence, and so, entering this world requires care and open-mindedness. i need to leave my head behind my heart. i let my heart guide the way.

the spot is warm. i sit down. there are twenty-three marks tallied next to the drawn seat of the ledge. any ledge is high... enough. i gaze down. you said you weren't leaving in december. the lamp post casts a light down the hole. it feels cold. here again.

there is a familiarity to a spot like this. when you are closer to the hole there is a sort of wind ambience, or noise. it reminds me of the sort of wind that would exist on a bridge. i've lived and existed in sea port cities for most of my life. a bridge was my 'place to be'. a bridge was 'high enough'. a bridge was a 'hole'.

myself and death are not strangers. i've felt its touch and its air. i have felt its temptations, its calls and its promises for some sort of release. a release only death can bring. this world reminds me of each of the times that death and i have crossed paths, both for me and for those close to me. i have not been able to stop death many times. yet, i wish to embrace it. or i should say, i have /wished/ to embrace it. i stand here in front of this hole and i feel myself remembering the times that death and i were closer than lovers, an attachment so dangerous yet so common. i remember the times we have held hands through the cold, my body shivering against cement.

in this virtual world, there is no cold air here, no wind. i shiver.

burnt cigarette.

another lamp post illuminates a different scene. a half-smoked, burnt cigarette haphazardly ashed into the ground. the floor surround it is dark and dirtied, a contrast to the concrete and cement that the world mostly uses.

a symbol of addiction, coping, and frustration - one that i understand too deeply. it doesn't matter how many you smoke. the feeling of needing another to curb the anxiety or the pressure or the stress or /anything/ really gets to you. it got to me. the brief moment of relief as the nicotine washes in, followed by shame, guilt, and self-hatred. i hated smelling like cigarettes. when i used to smoke, i made it my mission to make sure no one could find out about my habit.

the smoke was a break. the smoke was solace. the smoke was a time that i could count on for everything to slow down and then speed right back up just the way i want it too.

a chair and a carpet.

they both face a tv drawn on the wall.

to the right, when our memories fade. to the left, a mirror and the statement, times we hold. clicking the mirror activates the tv too play music. each time you click it, the song changes. each track sounds like it is being played through a memory. the screen of the tv is static.

is the head a suitcase for memories?

over time memories /feel/ like they're being viewed through static. i sometimes wonder if i am remembering certain moments right. did i see something wrong? did i perceive something incorrectly? am i just collecting things, these memories that will turn into dust? i just know that i will keep holding on to the anyway. but it doesn't feel good to not know. will remembering even be worth it? i do not know if i can trust the head.

am i tormenting myself for remembering? i don't know. i just know that i cannot let some memories go.

i cry for a little bit in the chair. i laugh. i celebrate. i mourn. i grieve. there are some memories i know i will cherish forever, but still i feel a deep sadness as i have lost some of the people in them. when i carry my baggage, is it my fault that it's so heavy? i wonder if i look strange when i do carry it. there is so much /in/ there, my head, i have not packed everything well. am i adding extra weight with all of these thoughts and feelings about all of these memories and times and places and moments and-

i don't want anyone to perceive me as just my baggage. i do my best to keep it light. but there really are some days that i cannot do it. it's heavy, it's burdening, it's suffocated me to a point where i cannot be moved. i'm stuck in a place. i'm in stuck in a hole.

head.

a haunting song plays when approachig the slashed head. the cut is angled, the top piece of the head slightly jutting away from the bottom piece. the giant head sculpture is placed on top of a stone with the inscription, i need to leave my head behind my heart.

what does it mean to think thoroughly? i do not know many times. i hope for the best often. i think the author does too. i think most people wish to hope for the best. there is only so much that we can control in the world. the head wishes for control. the head wishes for answers that are easy to understand. the head wishes for logic, reasoning, and for everything to make sense.

a lot of life doesn't make sense! it's fucking frustrating. and so, there are times that we trust our hearts to make the right decisions. i am weary of trusting both my heart and my head. i fear one and i hope not to lose the other. i need to leave my head behind my heart. my head feels disconnected from my tangible body. i do not like the body and i also do not like the head. i lead with my heart because my head is so fragile. it is not made for the likes of this world. maybe all of our heads are delicate, and require gentle treatment. how many of us have felt the cold cuts of life and its harsh reality? how many of us could benefit from soft company and sure safety?

it must be nice to trust the head with surety.

end.