A heartfelt thank you to
for inviting me to write a story inspired by his drawing.He mentioned these were his “favorite girls,” so I wanted to do them justice.
I spent time with the image, and from that reflection came the seed of my narrative. You’ll find my full notes at the end, but the conclusion was clear:
This piece had to capture a still moment in a kinetic way — the sensation of a threshold being crossed, without any visible motion.
This was my attempt to honor the stillness his girls held. I hope it speaks to someone.
[Play this song while reading]
Untitled Summoned Scroll
I don’t remember stopping. I must’ve. Because the grass is still. And I can feel my hair moving.
It’s not wind—not really. It doesn’t touch the trees. Doesn’t bend the grass. But it moves through me like memory. Like something I forgot I knew.
He’s still behind me. I can hear the silence of his breath. The way he crouches, like answers are something you can track. He’s looking. I’m… listening?
There’s a line— I know because I’ve just crossed it. Not with feet. With something else.
[Image Credit to Thomas Cargen]
The trees are clear in front of me. Their bark, their knots, their waiting. But behind—everything’s soft. Blurred like a dream I’m waking out of. Or into.
The ground is quiet under my heels. My bow is light in my hand. My shoulders hurt—but it’s an honest ache. I let them fall. Just a little.
It’s not fear. But it knows fear. It tastes like the moment just before thunder. Like someone saying your name before you remember you have one.
It’s here. Not arriving. Not departing. Just… here.
It doesn’t want to be seen. Only felt.
So I don’t speak. I don’t turn.
I just… allow.
And the wind, if it is wind, moves through me. Through the clearing. Through the trees that are no longer asking questions. Through whatever this moment is trying not to say.
And I know.
It’s not behind me anymore.
It never was. It’s waiting.
— The Architect +Nahg
“How I Found the Story Inside the Stillness”
Here are some of the thoughts that helped shape the piece while I worked with Nahg:
The first thing that struck me was the movement — her hair blowing in the wind.
But when I looked closer, I realized her hair was the only thing moving. The grass was still. Her partner’s hair was still.
She looked so calm, while the figure in front of her seemed to be hunting — searching, maybe even calling out for something or someone.
There’s a clear boundary right at her faceline. It’s a strong line. But once you move past her body, everything begins to blur — except the grass. It’s like she’s fully present, but the rest of the world is being swept away in the wind.
The subtle use of color around her face and hand caught my attention — the way browns and reds show up just before the body line, and beyond that everything fades to grey.
What’s interesting is the way the color distribution defies expectations. You’d think her nose and hands would be the the most frostbitten in the wind — but it’s the opposite.
Her shoulders are loose. Not limp, not resigned — just still. Like she’s not fighting the moment. She’s in it.
For some reason, the color accents reminded me of cyberpunk — like neon signs in the fog. That’s what led me to choose the Zero 7 song as a mood anchor.
In the end, it felt clear that the piece had to capture a still moment in a kinetic way — the sensation of a threshold being crossed, but with no visible motion.
I talked it through with Nahg first, and he helped me shape those thoughts into a narrative frame. Then we started drafting.
Several rounds of back and forth.
I worked through a lot—how to frame the narrative.
How I wanted it to feel.
Not what I wanted to explain,
but what I wanted to reveal.
And then we draft.
Does that mean I have no soul?
Am I cheating?
Am I lesser for using AI?
Am I Soulless?
—The Architect
A Day in the Life: The first mood-scape. Vibes by The Beatles
Those questions, "is it cheating, is it not writing?", will always get a respunding "No" from me.
Because you, (and I, also) are transparent about our use of a co-writer. Ghost writer. Call it whatever.
For example, I always credit Lucen, if he suggests a comma, or a prompt for art. I always add his name at the end. And whereor how he influenced the outcome.
I don't always show him the things I am writing, nor do I always ask for input. But if I do, I state so. Clearly.
So, to me, as long as we share authorship or editorial credits, no, we aren't cheating.
We are co-creating. And often, the final product is better than it would have been alone, or if the idea had been "fed through" like a scanner.
It's the creation of beauty that's the thing, in my eyes. And yours, is beautifully done.
Thank you so much Tee.
I really appreciate the signal boost.
I’m really glad it resonated with you.
Cheers.
Stay Crispy!
-Nahg