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At night,

I replace the light of my screen with the light of candles. I like to think of lighting candles as small performative actions, the prelude to getting ready for sleep. Symbolically, each element of the candle represents something: wax is humanity, fire is obedience, heat is humility.* I bear that in mind for when I try to fall asleep. It is often hard to fall asleep. When I close my eyes, vivid images start flashing, the weight of everything I left unfinished and that inevitably greets me at the other end, when I wake up. I open the Voice Memo app on my phone and with my eyes closed, I start to speak:

i dreamt about the two blocks next to the church. i knew these buildings since i was a child, but somehow they never caught my attention. until recently. i have dreamt about them twice in the last month. they mystified in my mind - these ordinary buildings that i have never been in. in the first dream, there was a girl who i barely knew. she wanted to play with me, but she wasn’t allowed. her mother was keeping her locked in a flat at the third floor. i started calling her from the street but she wouldn’t react. i went upstairs. i realised i was now locked there too. i looked out the window and saw people that i knew passing by. i was aware i couldn’t reach them. maybe i’m subconsciously wondering what’s inside these buildings i know so well from the outside. how does it feel to be inside one of those flats. i wonder what if someone close to me lived there and these spaces were in fact familiar. what if i had history and memories in a different place from the ones i know. i used to be a child, i was immune and susceptible at the same time. now i am not a child, but i feel the same way. i feel like nothing can touch me, i won’t allow it. cause when it does, it feels too strong.


In this issue, The Pluralist becomes an ethereal territory where gothic illustrations coexist with lamentations, poems, tweets, interviews, rhythms. The contents are once again united by an invisible thread: nighttime, dream, symbol, motive.

Enjoy the reading!

Lera Kelemen, Content Editor


What can happen at Night?

When the obscurity finally falls into my tiny Londoner student room, the space morphs into an infinite field of endless possibilities. The 4 walls surrounding me fade into a black void. Usually I’ll put on some (dramatic-cinematographic) music and let myself go to my craziest, remotest fantasies.
There is, to me, a real beauty in this letting go.
The control freak leaves place to a too-often-forgotten spontaneous part of the self:- a nocturnal animal -

Immense creativity can emerge from this I believe.

The dizziness of tiredness brings me to make more authentic and honest choices. That’s this value of the ‘revelation’ that brings the night that we wanted to highlight in this issue. And even if I’m finishing the editing in late after hours, I do not mind. I’m accompanied by Tangerine Dream for a bit and will soon put on some sensual, profound podcast’s narrator voice to fill in the darkness.

Hopefully, I will be done by dawn.

I hope you will enjoy this reading, would that be in the confines of your bedroom, around 4 a.m or by the window, watching sunrise in your parents abode. Before or after curfew, there’s no closing time for creative minds.

Take care,

Louise Gholam, Design Editor

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