The words flow like sand in an hourglass.
In time, we experience,
a real rhythm as simple and ruthless
as an algorithm,
a program we can’t keep up with,
and the more we try to balance it,
the more our electric programming
flows through us like a sharp,
existential river (reckoning),
maybe not so smooth or uniform,
but still a huge part of our universal analysis.
In that way, then, sometimes I feel
in a universe constantly expanding,
and leaving me homeless.
But maybe there I have lost track
of our innate desire for meaning,
a connection of a creative type
that lets us understand the river of meaning
that cuts through us all and unites us.
There are major times
where I’ve lost the desire to experience this.
I collapse into an unavoidable solipsism,
and an anger at the wrong ideas.
We are engineered,
to experience a chaotic transition
from every second of our lives
to the impossible
It’s an engineering river.
I remain a single byte or
bit of code,
having never known all of the
endless influences that make me
so viscerally afraid to speak.
The river, then, has ceased to be nature, and is ones and zeros.
White noise words:
But if this is the next step
in human civilization,
I hope that I can still love.
Maybe I am drowned in the sentimentality
of our finite existence, and inexplicability (itself).
But the water tastes bittersweet
in this fountain of meaning,
and I am aware.