Why does it seem that 90% of people talk about liminal spaces as fear and unease?
Why are there so few souls that feel longing and wonder instead?
Retarded, infantilized zoomer faggots afraid of empty rooms and smiles can't help themselves.
>>40539987 (OP)It involves the psycho-spiritual craving inherent to all fallen human beings. Especially if one is negating or rebelling from the spiritual.
You see this in the godless and bizarre 20th and early 21st century post-modern high art movements. Examples range from the nihilistic french decadents to the gnostic idealism of the surrealists.
In this state a wayward person could only begin healing through penitence. Instead of working the spirit in edifying acts of virtue these artists would rather erode further the vacuum-void in their heart.
In this chaotic fugue the yearning for the spiritual can only be touched by acts which accentuate and expand the vacuum-void inside their heart. These faggots usually do this either by working with foul and demonic spirits or they try and ape a sort of spiritual experience by playing a precious game of chicken beside the cliff face of that growing abyss within them. Inevitably this leads to despair, cynicism, suicide, demonic attacks and/or possession.
It involves the psycho-spiritual craving inherent to all fallen human beings. Especially if one is negating or rebelling from the spiritual.
You see this in the godless and bizarre 20th and early 21st century post-modern high art movements. Examples range from the nihilistic french decadents to the gnostic idealism of the surrealists.
In this state a wayward person could only begin healing through penitence. Instead of working the spirit in edifying acts of virtue they try and gratify the yearning for the spiritual in their hearts by acts which accentuate and expand abyss. These faggots usually do this either by working with foul and demonic spirits or they try and ape a sort of spiritual experience by playing a precious game of chicken beside the cliff face of that growing void within them. Inevitably this leads to despair, cynicism, suicide, demonic attacks and/or possession.
I see liminal space as comparable to how I experience my dreams.
Long ago—when I was a child—I came to understand that dreams were simply a natural part of my reality. There were the waking hours, spent in the shared experience of life on Earth, and then there was the subjective reality my mind constructed each night. To keep this comment brief, I won’t dive into the role or necessity of dreaming, but instead focus on how liminal space and dreaming are connected.
Once I accepted that dreams were inevitable, I developed a coping mechanism that transformed each dream into an adventure into the unknown. Even nightmares became more bearable, because I learned to see any malevolent figure—a ghoul, a demonic entity—as just another part of the story. Though often disjointed, these dream narratives still carried the subtle continuity of a journey. And in every hero’s journey, there is opposition—whether it’s the self, the environment, or a foe. All of it, I realized, is part of the same whole.
As I grew older and became more attuned to myself, my dreams transformed into wondrous ventures. They became strange, otherworldly realms filled with awe. I’m not sure if, in hindsight, I’ve added the world-building to these experiences retroactively—but in the moment, I always knew where I was, what I was doing, how I got there, and why it mattered. The “who” was always the most ambiguous. But that didn’t matter. These people were characters in the same way stories use characters—vehicles for meaning, not the meaning itself.
In my mind’s eye, worlds were built. And I could return to them. There was always a strange familiarity to these places, a tantalizing sense of déjà vu—like I had been there before, even though I hadn't. That, to me, is what liminality feels like: when an archetypal element is recognized, evoking wonder, awe, and an intense yearning for something more. But that feeling is fleeting. Because once something is fully understood—expanded upon—the awe disappears.
It's in the longing that the feeling arises. The hope. The belief that a better version of yourself exists—one that knows something this current self does not. We rarely know when the good times are happening; we only realize it in hindsight. That’s why looking forward always holds the most potential for goodness.
Liminal space, then, is this mysterious in-between where reality transitions into the ether. It’s there—in that unknown—that we find our strange attachment to liminality. It’s not just aesthetic. It’s deeply personal, spiritual even. It’s where our unconscious hints at something just beyond comprehension—something worth chasing, even if we never catch it.
>>40539987 (OP)Sometimes cartoon physics really does just work, where the pic is already known, all it needs was the door frame to add context.
Yes, the wallpaper itself is like the solid rock, and putting the door in front makes it like a cave Wile E. Coyote painted
>>40539987 (OP)My understanding is that it’s pretty simple psychology. A “liminal” space refers to a place where is only viewed in passing, stores, airports, malls, roads. And when we linger in these places and really process them it feels new and strange. This is compounded with liminal space photos usually being devoid of people so seeing these places that are normally inhabited by many people with none suggests that you shouldn’t be there either.
tldr:
>fear of the unknown/unfirmimiar >safety in numbers
I think it's because liminal spaces have this dead end almost uncanny valley effect to them. Well as close to "uncanny" as a environment can get obviously, not the same effect but similar IMO. They can look "fake" sometimes or ai generated. Of course if everything's "ma simulation" then maybe the player just has a shit PC with population density on low.
