somewhere within infinity

everything we say here in this digital age

we think resonates and induces influence

when maybe the utterances barely do more than just

echo or

manifest as recursions

as

reoccurrences

barely more than frequently repeated screams

into the aether

declaring our existence

declaring

that we exist

declaring that WE

EXIST

and it's a declaration that

it's possible for the universe to manifest itself

in the form of complex conjugations of molecules

it's a declaration that

a part of the universe is able to

observe itself

even if only momentarily

these

screams into the aether declare our

importance

these

screams into the aether indicate our

impermanence

these

screams into the aether

propagate

they

ricochet off

electromagnetic waves

but they

decay by the time they've

reached the upper

atmosphere

and can be relayed

but i wonder if

by

recognizing this

iteration of

transience

by

recognizing this

instantiation of

beings with

"expired by" dates

by

RECOGNIZING the sounds that have dissipated

maybe we can understand

what it means to be infinite?

chaos

his mind is primed and inclined toward the omnidirectional, but these constraints limit his vision to the unilateral

any praise makes him revaluate his explicitly exclaimed appraisal, exchanging sacred names with the desecrative symbiotes that need a fertile brain to claim

but wouldn't autonomy be easier? automated motions, regulated emotions, eschewal of the fluid

"shit, something's off..."

REBOOT.

innumerable iterations, each time leading to a chain reaction that foreshadows cataclysmic failure, systemic error

neurodivergence is a bitch sometimes

_______

the rest of them seem to sway gracefully to the cadence of a tango, effortlessly harmonizing, effervescently chiming in at the suggestion of renewed ideas, plainly optimistic in the face of the bane

"they're all instantiations of Creation; ambassadors of patterns that are imbued by the Unity... by the Source... by Allah... by God"

but most of the time he doesn't believe.

while these microcosms of the Universe, masquerading as people, create, he eliminates

he's the torch-bearer of the Chaotic, bringing destructive thunder and whirlwinds with laded nihilism

but try as he might, he can't beguile them...

_______

perhaps these eruptions rendered his capacity to love just a puddle of sludge that needs to be muddled through

potent jealousy for the fortune of others, though tender compersion for their ability to maintain, to durate.

compersion... his most revered holism...

a bijection injects it's way into his awareness -- a clear correlation of his impulsivities and superfluous analyses, all the while missing the forest for the fucking field of trees

"simplicity... the key is simplicity..."

he thinks they know that logic and emotion can only be mutually exclusive, dichotomized, but both exist simultaneously in him, contending for totalitarian conquest, inevitably shuttling him to the realm of the hopeless

feeling homeless in a world full of open houses, squatting out back in an alley until it's safe to go back and check his residence for residual treasures

but the doors are all locked shut and sealed with concrete; thousand bedroom house with only one closet rendered accessible

scheduled for demolition next week...