The lattice of black holes is the bed the of Pantokrator.
Wept steel forges the breath of Janus as she creeps atop the crib of the pharaonic capitol–mesmerized by the twirling mobile of a bicameral neural net…the inverted pyramid digs further into the terrain. Inhaling pure vitriol Is our only redemption.
Dying isn’t hard. Living isn’t hard. It is the moments in between that get me…
…I call it…. Destabilized Reemergence. I pass through vivid stratospheres of crystallized sediments that fill the void of fixated rehearsals of yet to be quandarys, enveloped notations addressed to the recipient of another plane, a partical of dust, the true me of anothers hypothesis, encrypted tones of silent metaphors that beckon my acknowledged participation. I know all, yet I doubt. And it is the split second of unsureness that defeats my quest for pure truth. Why question my answer to a problem that is of the nature of ephemeral toxicity. I can pass the bargain counter of fears. I came to die. Who has not?- Sinz