An experimental art-science animated poem in 360 degrees that can be watched in virtual reality with a VR headset such as google cardboard.

Remember that in every picture of us, there were millions of photons bouncing off our faces, captured by a silicon chip inside our cameras then stored in another silicon chip as as binary codes,  eventually to be decoded  by yet another chip. This last chip with the help of several other chips and diodes replicates previously captured photons that were bouncing off our faces. Today, these photon replicas are knock on the retina's door inside my eye after they have been shown the way-in through my eyes' lenses. My rods and cones ask, "who's there?". The frequency at which these photon replicas vibrate to respond provoke rods and cones that have the nerve to transmit the photons' unintelligible message to my brain. My rods' and cones' question, that is as well mine, remains unanswered until my brain finishes processing the image and responds: "I am a neuronal pathway that was formed when you were taking pictures of yourself and this person on that day bla bla". Right before my serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin and GABBA neurotransmitters fire and I get overly excited, another part of my brain calms me down reminding me that this image is from my past that is dissociated from my present. Conversely, other parts of my brain bring back memories of this person's perfumes,  images, situations, emotions,  fights...and a plethora of related neuronal pathways that were formed when we were together. The voice of your laughter hits me in the face when the receptionists at the hair cell saloon in my ears receive no sign to dance.  Am I dreaming? Am I hallucinating? Have I become an arena for a bunch of drunk, excited and angry neurotransmitters that were trained during the reign of your empire of nostalgic scents and mesmerising presence. Your body odour, after all the olfactory bureaucracies, must have allied with the general secretary of my immune system who believed that our eventual offspring, if he or she were to see the light, will become immune to many life-threatening diseases and shall live happily ever after. Your face, your eyes, your lips, your hips... were able to convince the guardian of my genes that we can mix for a greater good that I honestly ignore.  My eyes might have met yours when I was five but I forgot. In an infant's mind, it is quite easy to trigger euphoria and the sense of acceptance with a reckless smile. Conditional learning at its best, I'd say,  but where was the scientist back then? Where was my awareness and curiosity? The few neurons that remained faithfully connected all these years in memory of your eyes and whatever remains of their context, I blame them not for having us met and separated, over and over,  since we will meet and separate a hundred times again and again. We will meet in the eyes and perfumes of the multitude of this collective being that is determined by a consequential exposure of our senses to stimuli, a gang of neurotransmitters with hidden agendas, and a fake notion of free will, making us believe that we have a choice! :)

I understand that by publishing this idea, I am responsible for all its claims and metaphors, its science and art, as much as it is the responsibility of its consumer that is vibrating along the same wavelengths.
interesting play
i love