『Greetings From the Fourth Dimension』のカバーアート

Greetings From the Fourth Dimension

Greetings From the Fourth Dimension

著者： Patrick Bernauw
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 You've never seen these colors before
A place that you've never been
We greet you at the door
Welcome to the fourth dimension
You've never been so alive
Now that you made it
Tell me
Are you stayin'?Patrick Bernauw SF スピリチュアリティ 旅行記・解説 社会科学
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  • I Just Recently Saw the Field Where I Died

    I Just Recently Saw the Field Where I Died
    2026/01/02
    Dust road humming, towers like worn teeth,
    Boot prints tangle in the whispering wheat.
    Found a black coin sleeping in the dirt,
    Sky like a shoebox photo, yellowed and blurred.
    Camera stutters—world double-exposed,
    A latch in my ribs lifts, clicks, and holds.

    I’m not a ghost—I’m twice alive,
    I came to take back what I left behind.
    The quiet sets a chair, pours water wide;
    I step through the silence like an open sign.

    I just recently saw the Field Where I Died,
    and the wind spelled out my name in dust.
    I walked away with my shadow untied,
    heart like a war drum—boom, boom, trust.
    Not here to haunt—here to reclaim;
    I took my breath back, I took my name.

    Monoliths leaning like old cathedrals,
    Grass hisses secrets in rattles and needles.
    Somewhere a friend called my name years away,
    Measuring stick in a thunderless day.
    The dog of the field gave a tired little sigh—
    Even the stones seemed to nod, “All right.”

    I’m not a wound; I’m the healed black line,
    Stitched by the sun and a patient time.
    The past unlatches, swings open wide;
    I step through the doorway I once denied.

    A coin. A torn photo.
    A broken watch. A matchbook.
    A note with a shaky scrawl.
    I leave them on the gate for the next to find—
    I was buried here once… I’m not buried at all.

    I just recently saw the Field Where I Died,
    and the wind spelled out my name in dust.
    I walked away with my shadow untied,
    heart like a war drum—boom, boom, trust.
    Not here to haunt—here to reclaim;
    I took my breath back—
    I took my name.

    Light leaks—yellow, pink, violet—fade,
    Rearview towers shrink into a single blade.
    I drive with the window down, unafraid,
    The latch in my chest still open, still brave.


    (Sounds and music made with Suno. Script: Patrick Bernauw.)





    Patrick Bernauw is a writer of historical fiction and magical realism. He is living in Flanders, the Dutch speaking part of Belgium. Maybe he'll turn this podcast into a book someday, who knows.

    This episode includes AI-generated content.
    続きを読む 一部表示
    16 分
  • While Flying Through the Bermuda Triangle, You Can Spoil the Magic!

    While Flying Through the Bermuda Triangle, You Can Spoil the Magic!
    2025/12/23
    Dear Listener,

    It began with an ordinary table. Dinner set, glasses faintly shining, wine breathing in its jug. A chair slightly pulled back, waiting for someone who never arrived—or perhaps someone had just slipped away.
    Then came the hinge. Not the front door. Not the cupboard. Somewhere else.
    The wall above the table rippled, thinned, and folded open. Where plaster had been, there now stood a window, opening onto no garden, no street, no world we know.
    Through it leaned a figure carved from marble and myth, yet terribly alive...

    If this message reaches you, know that I am still waiting here at the threshold, listening.

    Wish you were here with me,
    The Gatekeeper

    (Voices and music made with Suno Studio. Script: Patrick Bernauw.)

    Patrick Bernauw is a writer of historical fiction and magical realism. He is living in Flanders, the Dutch speaking part of Belgium. Maybe he'll turn this podcast into a book someday, who knows.
    続きを読む 一部表示
    16 分
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