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Monthly Archives: November 2017

I’ve spent weeks out here, exploring, thinking…

Waiting. Is that what it is? Is that what I’ve been doing?

Waiting for what? Answers? What are the questions?

Salvation? Where have I sinned?

I don’t know. I sit in expectation of…the next moment? Anticipating like it’s the loaves and the fishes, only the next will have the complement the last didn’t.

Maybe.

Caught in an infinite loop of infinite length, so long between beginendings that the whole is ambient ephemeral flowing between waypoints. Sunrise,…Sunset…

The stars are plentiful, strewn aroundabout like fire-flecks in inky night, a shaken snowglobe in four dimensions. I float awaiting…

Waiting. That is all I am doing.

Waiting for what? Answers? What are the questions?

Salvation? Where have I sinned?

Is it compliment I seek or complement? Homonymous, needy inchoate yearnings of some finite flotsam threading through an eleven-dee tapestry, yearning to see the whole that is the cogito ergo sum of his small part? Oboe note intimating infinite intimate in finite form, dwelling upon infinite insubstantials?

Possibly. Smoke ponders other smoke. Expectation burns into disorder so very fast. Entropy is inevitable, and yearning simply brings the heat-death closer faster, blooming burning in Valse Infinie in two.

Yet after that, what? Another dead universe born a’dying in quantum foam, another trillion-year tale of sound and fury told in the wink of an outside eye. Ash and bone, strife and ecstasy, all blowing past ones ear on a cool spring morning.

Waiting. That is all I ever do.

Waiting for what? Answers? What are the questions?

Salvation? Where have I sinned?

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