October 5, 2024
Our fear is not granular. It extends far beyond the notion of having a confined medium. It is quaint, morose even. Where do we lie in the grand scheme? What part do we play in the movement of the celestia corpora above (and in some sense, below) us? Why must the cogs of the world move, turn twist and grind at the very thought of our endeavours? Our embarking, tailing and pursuit? Who are we? Our insignificance is blinding, our breath miniscule in the light of the cosmos and yet. Yet, we are perfectly aligned with catastrophe.
Reflections
We are in tandem with disaster, and perhaps drive it forward by daring to become ... real? By wanting? Where our lack of wit smites us below, our tenacity lifts us forth but all is naught under the heavy weight of a world adamant on change as if on queue.
Ludus Mortis