TASTE.EVERY.MORSEL
If you’re here, you’re craving a bite out of life
The Galactic Ballooner
The moon wasn’t hostile—it was alive.
Kalo’s fins twitched as the vibrations coursed through him. It wasn’t just sound. It was communication, raw and ancient. The moon wasn’t trying to hurt him. It was curious.
Kalo offered his own truths, explaining the art of puffing: how it wasn’t an act of aggression, but a dance of survival. And the moon, glowing softly, taught him something in return: Balance creates harmony. Harmony creates resilience.
The universe, vast and unending, housed mysteries that even the most advanced minds could barely fathom. But among its quirkiest phenomena was Kalo, a pufferfish who unintentionally became the galaxy’s first interstellar explorer.
Kalo didn’t set out to leave Earth. One moment, he was floating near a coral reef, glaring at a nosy barracuda with all the authority a small, spiny fish could muster. The next, a shimmering vortex tore open beneath him, pulling him in like a helpless plankton. When the spinning stopped, Kalo found himself drifting in a weightless expanse of glittering stars.
“Great,” Kalo muttered, his voice muffled in the vacuum of space. “I knew today felt off.”
As luck—or biology—would have it, Kalo’s natural buoyancy adapted to the lack of gravity. He bobbed through the cosmos, his spines faintly glowing from an unexplainable energy. Ahead, a pulsating neon-green moon caught his eye. It shimmered like the bioluminescent waves of home, and something about it felt… familiar.
“Better than hanging out with space sharks,” Kalo mumbled, paddling toward it.
When Kalo landed on the moon’s gelatinous surface, it wobbled under his weight, sending ripples of light across its expanse. A sudden metallic voice broke the silence.
“IDENTIFY YOURSELF.”
Kalo puffed up instinctively, though he quickly realized it wouldn’t help against the floating, egg-shaped drone that now hovered over him. “Uh… I’m Kalo? Just visiting?”
The drone scanned him with a bright beam. “YOU ARE AN AQUATIC ORGANISM. HOW DID YOU SURVIVE THE COSMIC SPIRAL?”
“I… puffed?” Kalo ventured, unsure of what answer wouldn’t end in dissection.
The drone tilted slightly, as if considering. “FASCINATING. YOUR PHYSIOLOGY DEMONSTRATES COMPLEX ADAPTATION. YOU WILL BE STUDIED.”
“Studied?” Kalo bristled, his spines extending. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m allergic to dissection.”
Before Kalo could puff himself into full defense mode, the moon itself intervened. Its pulsing rhythm grew louder, almost musical, drowning out the drone’s mechanical voice. The light it emitted shifted from neon green to a soft, golden glow that reminded Kalo of sunrise on the reef.
The moon wasn’t hostile—it was alive.
Kalo’s fins twitched as the vibrations coursed through him. It wasn’t just sound. It was communication, raw and ancient. The moon wasn’t trying to hurt him. It was curious.
The drone paused, its lens swiveling toward the moon as if receiving instructions. The energy field surrounding Kalo dissipated.
“COMMENCE EXCHANGE,” the drone announced.
Kalo blinked. “Uh, okay. Exchange what?”
The moon’s vibrations intensified, matching the rhythm of Kalo’s heartbeat. It was showing him something—memories etched into its core. He saw creatures swimming through rivers of light, their movements leaving trails of color in the void. He felt the slow, deliberate passage of time, measured not in seconds but in cycles of creation and renewal.
In return, Kalo offered his own truths. He explained the art of puffing: how it wasn’t an act of aggression, but a dance of survival. His spines weren’t weapons—they were warnings. He shared the quiet symphony of the reef, where harmony was survival’s greatest strength.
The moon absorbed it all, its glow softening with understanding.
When the exchange ended, the drone released a burst of energy that enveloped Kalo, propelling him back toward the vortex. As he hurtled through space, the moon’s final vibrations lingered in his mind: “Balance creates harmony. Harmony creates resilience.”
When Kalo splashed back into his reef, he floated in silence. The barracuda from earlier swam up, its sharp teeth gleaming. “What happened to you?”
Kalo looked at the predator, his spines relaxing. “Oh, you know,” he said with a small puff. “Just learning how small things can create big waves.”
An Invitation
Have you ever felt too small to make a difference? What if the very things that seem to limit you—your size, your vulnerabilities—were your greatest strengths? The Galactic Ballooner invites you into a world where the tiniest ripple can shift the entire cosmos. Come see how one humble pufferfish reminded the stars of Nature’s oldest truth: harmony is resilience.
By Emrys Solis
“True strength isn’t in size or power—it’s in the harmony you create with the world around you. Even the smallest ripple, when made in balance, can shift the tides of the universe.”
The Stone and the Pulse
Her hand trembled as she touched the broken stone, expecting nothing. Instead, the liquid light stirred, hesitant but steady, like a river reawakening after a drought. As the pulse reignited, the map shifted, connections sparking where there had been only silence. The stone wasn’t an end; it was a bridge.
Eda sat in the clearing, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth. She had been here many times before, her path well-trodden, yet today felt different. Her eyes were drawn to a single stone, half-buried in the soil, its surface etched with grooves that seemed too precise to be random. The grooves curved and branched, like the roots of a tree frozen in time.
It wasn’t curiosity that made her reach for the stone but something deeper—an instinct, or perhaps a memory she couldn’t name. As her fingers brushed its surface, she felt it: a pulse, slow and deliberate, resonating not in her ears but her bones.
The pulse wasn’t steady like a heartbeat. It shifted, like the ebb and flow of a tide, pulling her into its rhythm. She closed her eyes, and the world around her faded. No more birdsong, no rustling leaves—only the pulse, growing louder, filling her.
When she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t in the clearing. She was standing in a vast expanse, the ground beneath her a mosaic of stones just like the one she had touched. Each stone pulsed with light, their grooves connecting in a pattern that stretched endlessly in every direction. It wasn’t random—it was a map.
Eda knelt to study the nearest stone. The grooves weren’t grooves at all; they were veins, carrying streams of liquid light. The pulse wasn’t just sound or energy; it was life itself, flowing through the network. She followed one stream with her eyes and saw where it ended: a broken stone, its veins dark and empty.
The silence there was deafening.
She reached out, her hand trembling, and pressed her palm to the broken stone. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the liquid light began to flow, the pulse reigniting as the veins connected to hers.
The map shifted. Stones that had seemed distant now glowed brighter, their connections clearer. The broken stone wasn’t an end but a bridge, linking the network in ways she hadn’t seen before.
When Eda returned to the clearing, she was no longer restless. The stone lay in her lap, its grooves now faintly glowing, and she understood. The pulse wasn’t something to be chased or captured. It was something to be shared, one connection at a time.
An Invitation
What if the pulse you’ve been chasing isn’t missing but waiting—for you, your touch, your trust? The Stone and the Pulse is a story about discovering what was never lost, hidden in the flow of life itself. Step into the rhythm, and let it guide you home.
By Emrys Solis
“The pulse isn’t found in chasing or fixing—it’s in sharing, in bridging what seems broken until the whole begins to glow.”
The Crack in the Grid
Ellis wasn’t supposed to be there, but the hum drew him in—a vibration deeper than sound, alive with meaning. When the city’s Dominance Grid unleashed its fury, he had a choice: let go or hold on to the resonance that could crack its perfect facade.
Ellis wasn’t supposed to be there. The theater was long abandoned, its doors chained shut and its marquee dark for years. Yet, standing at the entrance, he felt pulled, as though the air itself whispered for him to enter.
Inside, the walls sagged under the weight of years, vines creeping through shattered windows. Dust hung in the air like suspended time. Yet, amidst the decay, the faintest hum resonated. It wasn’t audible, but Ellis felt it, deep in his chest, like the echo of a memory.
He followed the vibration, his footsteps eerily quiet on the rotted carpet. The hum grew stronger as he descended into the bowels of the building, where the light barely reached. Finally, he found it—a tuning fork, impossibly pristine, standing upright in the center of the stage. It was large, as tall as a man, and seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive.
Ellis reached out, hesitating. The moment his hand touched the fork, the hum exploded into sound, a deep, resonant note that reverberated through the entire theater. His chest vibrated, his breath matched the rhythm, and for a fleeting moment, he felt utterly connected—not just to the fork, but to everything.
The resonance wasn’t just sound; it was a force, a rhythm that pulsed through the foundations of the city. It carried whispers of something forgotten—freedom, clarity, life. But the hum also carried weight, and with it came the presence of the Dominance Grid—the vast network of control that spanned the city, invisible yet all-encompassing.
The Dominance Grid reacted swiftly. It poured into the theater like a flood, choking the air with its static. Screens outside lit up with blinding light, voices barked from hidden speakers, and the hum of machinery rose into a roar that tried to drown out the fork.
But Ellis didn’t let go.
The tuning fork vibrated harder, its resonance drowning out the grid’s static. The sound wasn’t just resistance; it was alignment. It filled him, pulling him into its rhythm, until his own heartbeat matched its pulse.
Outside, the city faltered. The towering structures built to amplify the Dominance Grid flickered, their glow dimming. For the first time, cracks appeared in the perfect facade, fractures spreading like veins of light through the concrete and steel.
Ellis’s body ached, his cells reverberating with the fork’s resonance, both breaking and mending in equal measure. But he held on, letting the sound carry him beyond himself, beyond the theater, into something vast and alive.
The world outside seemed to shift. The sterile streets shimmered, overlaying visions of a world unbound by control. Trees replaced skyscrapers, rivers cut through concrete, and the air buzzed with life instead of static.
And then it was gone.
Ellis collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. The tuning fork stood silent, the hum fading into memory. But the cracks it had made in the Dominance Grid remained, glowing faintly with a light that felt alive.
Staggering to his feet, Ellis turned to the fork and whispered, “Thank you.”
The fork didn’t answer. It didn’t need to. Its work had only begun.
An Invitation
What grid do you live under? Is it the relentless pulse of expectation, the static of constant noise, or the heavy hum of control disguised as progress? The Crack in the Grid invites you to listen closer, to feel the rumble beneath the noise, and to ask yourself: What lies on the other side of control?
By Emrys Solis
“Control is the illusion that keeps us from hearing the resonance of truth. To break free, we must listen—not with fear, but with the courage to feel what vibrates beneath the noise.”
The Bridge Of Light
Amidst the frost-laden reeds of a cold morning walk, a thousand rainbows shimmered in silent defiance of the mundane. What are these fleeting moments trying to tell us? Dive into the story of light, water, and a hidden truth waiting to unfold.
The frost had come overnight, cloaking the reeds in crystalline armor. By morning, the sun struck the frozen stalks at just the right angle, turning the world into a shimmering mosaic. Tiny rainbows blinked in and out of existence, as if the universe were winking—a secret shared between light and water.
She walked slowly, her boots crunching on the frosted ground. The air was sharp, slicing through her lungs with each breath, but she welcomed it. The cold felt honest. It didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was.
The rainbows caught her attention, pulling her out of her thoughts. Each flicker felt deliberate, alive. She paused, her breath hanging in the air, and watched. The colors moved like whispers—here, then gone. No pattern. No logic. Just being.
It wasn’t the kind of beauty that demanded attention. It didn’t scream or shout. It simply existed, waiting for someone to notice. And as she stood there, she realized: it wasn’t just the frost catching the light. It was the light catching her.
The moment stretched, time losing its edges. She felt her chest rise and fall, her pulse slowing to match the rhythm of the world around her. The cold on her skin, the warmth of the sun, the weight of the air—it all folded into one. She was no longer separate from the scene. She was the scene.
But the moment didn’t stay. The sun rose higher, and the frost began to melt. The rainbows faded, leaving only bare reeds and the memory of what had been.
She exhaled, her breath steady now. The world hadn’t changed, not really. Cars still roared in the distance. The hum of a city buzzed in her ears. But something inside her had shifted. She carried the light now, a tiny pulse in her chest, a quiet reminder: connection is always there, waiting.
It’s not about finding the extraordinary. It’s about noticing the ordinary, and seeing the extraordinary within it.
An Invitation
When was the last time you stood still long enough to feel the world? What would happen if you listened to the quiet moments and let them ripple through you?
By Emrys Solis
“Within the frost of stillness, Nature speaks in rainbows—a language only visible when we pause, listen, and remember we are part of her infinite design.”