A distorted voice erupts a thick silence: “John, are you awake?”. As he tries to adjust his vision, images loom overhead, not sure what to make of them, he asks, “what happened?”. “They found you almost dead. You have been out for the last 2 days” answers an old female voice. “Who are you?” he asks, as silence fills the room for some awkward long seconds that seemed an eternity. Then a low gasp sounded from the back of the room - “oh my God”.

He continues to gaze around the room surrounded by unrecognizable silhouettes, realizing something is off, way off. As much as he wants to stand he can’t, and a man in white reaches saying “you must rest”. He continues to confusedly look at the faces staring back at him. He at least tries to sit up and a thin pale arm, maybe female, comes into view and helps him move up to rest against some pillows above. The pale arm slowly retracts. He looks towards the face of that person but it is faded, he can’t make up a face. So he asks for his clothes. The man in white responds “you can’t leave” which he replies “I just want my clothes”. They hand him a wallet and pants, no shirt. He opens the wallet and notices an old boarding pass stating “Ortelius” with handwritten marks and “day 13” circled. Then he see’s what seems to be some sort of license. He doesn’t understand the language but it shows “Argentina” and reads “John Krone DOB: UNKNOWN”. “Wait a minute” he thinks to himself “Argentina? dob unknown? wasn’t I born in…? in…? I can’t remember. What in the world?”. He places the wallet on his side and starts searching the pockets of the pants. Pulls out a piece of paper, it has handwritten letters on both sides with different characters and two large symbols. One of the symbols is laid under the text. However, he recognizes the writings are all his, but doesn’t remember ever writing them. The first page starts with the words “Jeg kan ikke nyte livet mens Jeg er død, må jeg dø så jeg Kan leve”. He couldn’t understand what it says or what language is that, but the next paragraph he did, and as he read them his eyes became wide open.

At this moment the man in white says once again, “you must rest” as he reaches for a knob on the wall marked P42 and rotates it. The patient follows the tube with his eyes coming from the wall and notices it’s connected to an IV marked D5W which is connected to his arm. Immediately he tries to remove the needle but the man in white hazmat holds his hand in place. While he is trying to force to get the IV off he starts feeling a tingling sensation across his arm and to his face. He slowly looses grip and his hand releases the other man’s arm. He looks at the silhouettes and they seem as they are staring back at him, emotionless. He gently eases back as he falls asleep.
- [Excerpt of Clone 23 - a short movie project]


I have found my voice echoing alone in the fabric of a distant future. Mentally fastened to a state communicating with those my same physical age seems difficult and boring as I continue to be kept up to date with all what is new and everyone else locked in the past. So I have shut down my thoughts and now I’m less bitter by becoming silent and forgotten.

A photo is a stolen slice of time frozen with light.
Richard Nieves
Photography, however, drives me immensely and truly is an universal language, even more than music. I think its the only way I can creatively express myself at this moment without speaking.

Now instead of sharing thoughts, I steal. I have become a thief, stealing from others, from nature, from matter. To me a photo is a stolen slice of time frozen with light. And though people see images as simply what they are -images, I see them as windows to the past. It is a time extraction that can be revisited anytime without the need for 1.21 Gigawatts, Plutonium or a Tardis. It’s the closest thing we have to time travel. So in my pursuit to channel my creative outpour and find an outlet to manifest, I continue stealing time with every snap of the shutter.

And as always: Silence, Solitude, Oblivion.

Richard Nieves
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