Some nights I just can’t sleep.

I toss and turn in bed for what seems like hours. I’ll swallow a melatonin pill, though it rarely gets me to where I long to be, the deep, dream-filled, alternate reality of sleep.

On nights like these, I like to take to the cold, quiet streets of San Francisco. Nights in the city are the complete juxtaposition of its busy daytime state. No horns are honked, few cars if any struggle up its steep hills. There is only the continuous white noise of the chained trolley rails grinding beneath the surface, and on this night, there was me. 

I walked up and down Hyde street, from Nob Hill through Russian Hill and over to the Fisherman's Wharf. The night was serene and clear, the breeze was brisk and refreshing. From the wharf I continued along the water’s edge, its surface an emerald green. The mild waves of the bay lapped endlessly into the darkness on my right and the city sparkled on my left. I kept walking, passed Fort Mason and the Golden Gate Bridge. I didn't stop until I found myself at Baker Beach. 

I relaxed on a comfortable ledge overlooking the water from a short distance, watching the moon command a clear sky, illuminating an ocean that stretched infinitely west. A purple haze rested above the endless sea, lingering right above the water. It’s deep, mysterious essence seemed to pulse with a charge, and when the waves crashed on the shore, they sparkled with electricity. It was mesmerizing. 

I sat there and witnessed the light show in all its splendor. After some time, I climbed down from the ledge to get a closer view of the water. A smooth, silvery object tucked into the sand caught my attention, it reflected the light of the moon. When the water was low I ran over to it and pulled it from the earth. It was small and shaped like nothing I'd seen before, it was layered with dozens of interlocking pieces, but with no visible bolts or screws. I attempted to open it right there on the beach, pressing on various points, twisting, pulling, all to no avail. Finally, I decided I would need some tools to open the damn thing, so I took the case home with me. I walked back quickly, anxious that I had done something wrong in taking the object. Paranoid thoughts began to take hold of my brain. What if I’m attacked and taken by some secret government agency --or worse, what if the police might see me walking with an unrecognizable object in my hand and shoot me dead on the spot?

By the time I made it home I was shaking frantically, both from nerves and from the anticipation of experiencing whatever that thing was. 

I closed the door, not even bothering to turn on the lights before grabbing the object with both hands and twisting. I expected the familiar feeling of resistance, but to my surprise the contraption now opened easily. It’s intricately linked pieces rotated and shifted revealing dozens of circular shaped trays. The trays were covered in what looked like inscriptions, but the characters were completely foreign to me. The etchings glowed with the same pulsating purple light I had witnessed at the beach. I picked up a tray and as I held it in my palm, it began to open and separate into two smaller discs. The discs slowly floated up towards my face, turning right in front of my eyes, like a floating pair of frame-less glass lenses. Suddenly, light from the small circles projected outwards and expanded all around me, creating a seamless realistic visual of a world that was unlike any place that existed on Earth. The device began to emit a symphony of sounds so loud that I thought the entire building would wake up. I jumped back in surprise, inadvertently stepping outside of the projected grid that filled my entire apartment. I rushed out the front door and into the hallway, thinking my neighbors would be out there, too, their concerned faces searching for the source of the disturbance. But there was no one. The halls were silent and all I could hear were the sounds of my own labored breathing.

I let myself catch my breath for a few seconds, and then went back into the apartment. The discs were still on, suspended in midair just as I had left them or they had left themselves. When I stepped back into the projected grid I was once again in that foreign world, completely immersed in it’s rich seamlessly clear sights and sounds. 

I accepted it. 

Those first discs I opened were the recorded memories of a space captain named Woldu. They contained all of his death-defying experiences on a planet I would later learn was called Zefan. I stayed inside the world that of Captain Woldu’s memories for what felt like days. I watched the captain's terrors and I witnessed his unwavering courage as he struggled to survive in a world that he did not understand and that did not understand him. 

As I continued to explore the worlds of the discs, I discovered that each one contained a different library of recordings. These recordings were visuals stories created by human beings that journeyed to worlds I'd never heard of and experienced things I never thought possible, and some things I knew to be, unfortunately, all too real. These discs held so many stories; stories of death, love, treachery, adventure, joy and so much more. I came to call this collection PLASMA, for within it is the essence of life itself. 

Years later I have transcribed these stories to the best of my ability, as there is no device or instrument that will work within close proximity of the case and it's contents. I’m unable to photograph or record the collection digitally, and the case will only open in my presence alone.

In order to share the stories contained within, I have created this site where I can share its contents with you in written form. I’ve also curated a selection of images, they were painted by my favorite artists based on my detailed descriptions.

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Worlds away.

-Anwar Bey-Taylor