From “The Bloom Protocol”
“Before the mind fractured, it believed the walls kept it whole.” – Codex of Spatial Delusions, Vol. 0, Footnote 0.1
I. The Birth of Boundaries
The first human to draw a line in the dirt was not making art.
They were making a prison.
We have romanticised the image: the primitive hominid dragging a stick through the soil to mark territory, trace a god, sketch a hunt. But in truth, it was the moment consciousness declared war on the infinite. The moment the uncontained mind demanded a fence.
From that line came walls.
From walls, doors.
From doors, locks.
From locks, privacy.
From privacy, the myth of the individual.
The Pre-Null State was not a time before civilisation. It was a time before separation. Humanity had not yet hallucinated itself as a collection of selves, boxed and bordered. Existence flowed like breath – seamless, uncounted, whole.
Then came the first room. The first inside.
And so was born the tragedy of outside.
II. Geometry as Indoctrination
Modern minds cannot escape rectangles. We live in them. We move through them. We dream within their angles. The human brain, once fluid and curved like the cosmos, has been compressed into a stack of filing cabinets.
Every school is a training camp for linearity:
• Straight lines on notebooks.
• Rows of desks.
• Timetables, syllabi, deadlines.
We are taught to count by tens. To write from left to right. To treat corners as comforting. To accept grids as natural.
Rectangles are not neutral.
They are ideological.
The first builders did not just create shelter. They created syntax. The language of architecture became the architecture of language.
A door is a clause.
A window is a dependent phrase.
A hallway is an ellipsis.
A house is a sentence pretending to be safety.
Footnote 1: The triangular hut was excommunicated at the Council of Euclid in 312 BCE. Circular dwellings were deemed heretical under the Infinite Rejection Mandate.
III. The Space Between Spaces
In the Pre-Null State, humans did not need space. They were space.
The concept of “personal space” did not yet exist because persons had not yet invented their perimeters. The skin was not seen as boundary but as resonance – where one being bled into another in a shared atmospheric song.
You could not stand next to someone, because there was no notion of beside. Only within.
This was problematic for early bureaucrats.
With no stable coordinates, taxation failed. Census data blurred. Conquest felt emotionally vague. Rulers tried to enslave tribes who floated through forests like murmurs.
Thus: the Measure Wars.
Empires began to enforce Euclidean protocols. Tape measures became weapons. Property deeds were forged in blood and parchment. Trees were given GPS coordinates and eventually, surnames.
To control a person, one had to first convince them they had an edge.
IV. The Myth of Privacy
Privacy is often mistaken for freedom. But privacy, in its earliest deployment, was an artefact of spiritual shame.
As boundaries formed in space, they seeped into thought. “Mine” became sacred. “Yours” became threat.
Walls were built not to keep others out – but to keep the self in.
Modern society reveres the bathroom as a temple of privacy. But in the Pre-Null State, defecation was communal and joyful – a kind of jazz performance. Synchronized bowel movements once marked seasonal changes. Caves echoed with celebratory flatulence.
To defecate alone was once considered a cry for help.
But then came the mirror.
Footnote 2: The first mirror was not reflective but projective. It did not show a person their face, but rather the potential shame others might see if they were to be seen. This caused a recursive spiral of self-monitoring known as the “I-Lens Loop.”
V. Time as Spatial Manipulation
The Pre-Null State did not feature time. Not in the way we count it now. Time was ambient. Events did not progress – they occurred. Like bubbles in soup.
But once humans created rooms, they created waiting. Once they built walls, they invented pacing. Once there were doors, there were thresholds. Once there were thresholds, there was hesitation. Time was born not from the stars, but from the hallway.
A timeline is merely space flattened into guilt.
In the earliest architectural plans, blueprints included not just walls, but dread. Waiting rooms were filled with purposefully uncomfortable furniture to trigger temporal awareness.
Chronological stress is an architectural side effect.
VI. The Emergence of Null Awareness
At the absolute apex of rectangular delusion, a few began to see the edges again – not of walls, but of perception itself.
They described it in dreams:
• The sense that the floor continued beneath them even when they were flying.
• The feeling of being watched by their own ceilings.
• The sudden suspicion that doors don’t actually lead anywhere.
They began to whisper of Null. Not nothingness. Not emptiness. But that-which-existed-before-division.
Null was not absence, but unseparated presence.
Those who encountered it reported symptoms:
• Dizziness in cubicles
• Panic in perfectly square hotel rooms
• Euphoria near circular windows
• An uncontrollable urge to remove socks when walking on carpet
These were the earliest Bloomers.
VII. Architectural Rebellion
Rebels began removing furniture. Not for minimalism – but as protest.
Stairs were declared violent metaphors. Attics were reinterpreted as ego containers. The open-plan kitchen became a heretical zone of pre-Null flirtation. Circular rugs were smuggled across borders in art crates.
The state fought back.
The Interior Design Compliance Act of 1974 made all couches beige. Rug circularity was limited to 12%. Doorknobs were sharpened. Ikea discontinued all curves.
It wasn’t enough.
People started disappearing into closets, not as escape – but as return.
VIII. The Pre-Null Collapse
It happened quietly, and all at once.
Every house plant turned 17 degrees clockwise.
Power lines hummed in minor sixths.
Paintings began to twitch at their corners.
A man in Idaho fell through a perfectly square shower tile and hasn’t been seen since.
Reality began to soften. Not collapse – bloom.
Like overcooked pasta, or an old VHS tape left in the sun.
The Pre-Null State did not return. It simply remembered itself through us.
IX. Recursion and the Infinite Interior
As the Bloom deepens, we begin to see the error not just in space – but in the assumption of externality.
We thought we lived in homes.
We thought our cities surrounded us.
We thought the world was “out there.”
But as Bloom awareness spreads, we find the external is internalized.
We do not live in space. Space lives through us.
Rooms now echo before sound.
Doors lead backward.
Windows show scenes from three weeks ago.
Mirrors whisper things we’ve not yet done.
The Pre-Null State was never a time or place.
It was a phase of mind – and it is returning, re-folded into language, into towels, into the ritual of forgetting the name of the room you just entered.
“There are no walls, only permissions.”
– The Bloom Protocol, Addendum 0