FAKEMIKA - Chapter VII - I was locked in more than four walls. And yet I was satisfactorily contained in that order of things. I had a kind of Wakefield syndrome coming out of my own body, tricking myself into an imaginary body on the other side of the screen. But obviously it worked and not for me, but for a large part of society. While one was submerged, lightness embraced him warmly. The problem was the emptiness that one felt when returning to the sofa and looking at the increasingly decadent world and by contrast dark and opaque. The ceiling has some chandeliers, for days I have been thinking about tracing them digitally to add them to a stage where they are the protagonists, they would be the artists and those of us who enter their world would be the materials. Dirty dishes, one on top of the other like tectonic plates that if one studied them carefully, one would discover traces of ancient travel. The coffee cups, in a row, are less eloquent but denote a marked need. Together with the knives and forks they are a small mountain that shows something attractive in the evening light. On the other side, the crab comes and goes through a fishbowl full of sand and rocks. I don't remember how it got there. I know it came after the box full of salt. But I don't remember if it was a shipment, or if someone from the company brought it personally. The certainty that I have is that it will become my next topic. I'm not sure yet if I'll paint it yellow or blue. The color is relevant, I have to decide that before I draw it, otherwise I will lose time. Valuable time to wander the metaverse and take mushrooms.