1213 After Corona.
1213 AC is a mystical date.
We all know that.
1 + 2 + 1 + 3 = 7.
7 is God.
6 was the Devil.
We are through. Something shifted in the stars and we stand on the right side of it.
7 AC would be, what, 27? 42?
The beginning is unclear.
All beginnings are unclear.
Beate Aal, whose destiny we follow in this very specific bundle of archives, was born in 42 AC. She was – to my understanding, that is – a non-believer. She didn’t envision that, in 1213 AC, I would be talking to you from this elevated place.
She was, as far as we know – the digital sources are a pain to decipher – a swimmer, an aquatic. In 403 moving pictures, we see her jump from smooth cliffs, intricated sand aggregates, bubbling tar roofs, rusty precarious cranes, laminated jumping platforms – yellow underneath, blue on top – and swim. Holding her breath longer and longer.
In the very last trace of her, an opaque shredded footage from 61, Beate Aal says, quote:
“My limbs feel unfamiliar. My body [inaudible]. Not the sum of them. [plane thundering] I am [inaudible] dream of sparkling [wind blowing] forgot how to walk [way too many seagulls screeching] terra firma no more”.
Then, we see her jump. During a fraction of eternity, she escapes gravity. And yet, like many others, she placed her faith in the depths.
In 61 AC, Beata Aal believed the answer to the human condition was to be found underwater. Along with octopi, sea kraits, lobsters and mixotrophs.
In 61 AC, Beata Aal couln’t possibly know we would grow wings, not gills.