Oct 2019
Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’
The collective consciousness
Branching into streams for each being
Or rather, each SOUL
For it is TIME
The consciousness
The awareness of change
Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss
That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief
And
Even Desires for possession
What remains is the eternal
The everlasting
Love without loss
Hope without fear
In Etahphh, the entity of time
As cliche as it is, is
Literally a river
And the streams of consciousness
Literally streams
Perhaps
It would be far more interesting
For us explore the planet Tarphah
Where the whole realm itself
Is a gargantuan elastic fabric
And it is in itself
Time, space and
All of its living souls
Or the perpetual
Self-devouring serpent
Of the Twin Neutron Stars
Where time and all events
Are in eternal repetition
But those are for another day
For time is dying in Etahphh
The eight side diamond shaped
Sandy planet of golden palaces
And crystal blue
River of Time and
Streams of Consciousness
The collective consciousness
Branching into streams for each being
Or rather, each SOUL
For it is TIME
The consciousness
The awareness of change
Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss
That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief
And
Even Desires for possession
What remains is the eternal
The everlasting
Love without loss
Hope without fear
In Etahphh, the entity of time
As cliche as it is, is
Literally a river
And the streams of consciousness
Literally streams
Perhaps
It would be far more interesting
For us explore the planet Tarphah
Where the whole realm itself
Is a gargantuan elastic fabric
And it is in itself
Time, space and
All of its living souls
Or the perpetual
Self-devouring serpent
Of the Twin Neutron Stars
Where time and all events
Are in eternal repetition
But those are for another day
For time is dying in Etahphh
The eight side diamond shaped
Sandy planet of golden palaces
And crystal blue
River of Time and
Streams of Consciousness
Chronothánatos
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
--=
I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:
I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)
Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/consciousness-temporal/)
Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.
What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)
When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us? Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
--=
I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:
I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)
Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/consciousness-temporal/)
Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.
What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)
When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us? Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
