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#infinitude
~ infinitude (noun): the state, the quality of being without limit, infinite ~ drew first breath, woken to the heart’s rpm thankless task, conscious aware, that solved proofs deny infinitude, yet, triumvirate of five senses, brain waving, a steadying thumping heart, all asking why not? can I will it? the body’s parts convene, debating furious, some claiming a sell-by-date cellular programmed, nothing to be done, dimming of the day, a human necessity, the self-salvaging process but a single cell, a mouse-sized squeaker, boldface stuns, *”feed me, moisturize, give me sleep + blue blood nourishment, I’m good to go in a forever Iditarod!”* the others ashamed of their festival of fear, knowing well what has gone before, dreaming thoughts of infinitude, go silent, while “why not?” lingers in the lungs, the breathable shared, atmosphere, the senses spread the quest to every remote province, with each continuing a chant grows ever louder, a millennium of poems concealed, yet awaiting conception, all entitled, “why not”reverberating. <+> 7:36am 2022020 nyc everywhere
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Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 3:23 PM UTC
No sense of infinitude (asking why not?)
A silent maw, _carved into the velvet of spacetime,_ drinks the universe __without sound, without shape—__ just the slow, spiraled collapse of everything once known. Its edge—a burning halo of __fused copper, liquid bronze,__ and _ionized fire,_ spins at the speed of forgetting, _blurring into a ring of sheer velocity—_ a lens where reality folds in on itself. Around it: __deep red streamlines,__ _maroon currents of orphaned light,_ taper and twist like oil on black water— __gravity made visible.__ In the distance, galaxies drift— _fractured spirals in periwinkle dust,_ nebulae __bruised in plum and violet,__ _their tendrils stretched thin_ by the pull of this ancient siphon. It does not speak. But it rearranges everything— _light becomes arc, time becomes thread, motion becomes stillness._ The accretion disk—a __maelstrom of starbone and ash,__ where photons skim the surface but never escape, trapped in orbit, a crown of failure and flame. Beyond the pull, _light teeters, bends, breaks—_ an aurora of shattered timelines wrapped in __lapis smoke,__ flickering in rhythm to a silence we will never unhear. Each orbit marks a memory— _not ours,_ but the universe’s— stitched into the architecture of collapse. There is no edge, no true surface, only the illusion of descent into perfect black— _not emptiness,_ but __the compression of everything.__ We are bystanders. Frozen, watching entropy dress itself in colors we’ve never seen before.
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May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 11:53 AM UTC
Gravemind of Light
A silent maw, _carved into the velvet of spacetime,_ drinks the universe __without sound, without shape—__ just the slow, spiraled collapse of everything once known. Its edge—a burning halo of __fused copper, liquid bronze,__ and _ionized fire,_ spins at the speed of forgetting, _blurring into a ring of sheer velocity—_ a lens where reality folds in on itself. Around it: __deep red streamlines,__ _maroon currents of orphaned light,_ taper and twist like oil on black water— __gravity made visible.__ In the distance, galaxies drift— _fractured spirals in periwinkle dust,_ nebulae __bruised in plum and violet,__ _their tendrils stretched thin_ by the pull of this ancient siphon. It does not speak. But it rearranges everything— _light becomes arc, time becomes thread, motion becomes stillness._ The accretion disk—a __maelstrom of starbone and ash,__ where photons skim the surface but never escape, trapped in orbit, a crown of failure and flame. Beyond the pull, _light teeters, bends, breaks—_ an aurora of shattered timelines wrapped in __lapis smoke,__ flickering in rhythm to a silence we will never unhear. Each orbit marks a memory— _not ours,_ but the universe’s— stitched into the architecture of collapse. There is no edge, no true surface, only the illusion of descent into perfect black— _not emptiness,_ but __the compression of everything.__ We are bystanders. Frozen, watching entropy dress itself in colors we’ve never seen before.
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No know sense of infinitude (asking why not?)        ~ noun: the state, the quality of being without limit, infinite drew first breath, woken to the heart’s thankless task, conscious aware, that the solved proofs deny infinitude, yet, triumvirate of five senses, brain waving, a steadying thumping heart, all asking why not? can I will it? the body’s parts convene, debating furious, some claiming a sell-by-date cellular programmed, nothing to be done, dimming of the day, a human necessity, the self-salvaging process but a single cell, a mouse-sized squeaker, boldface stuns, ”feed me, moisturize, give me sleep + blue blood nourishment,” the others ashamed of their festival of fear, knowing well what has gone before, thought dreaming of infinitude, go silent, while “why not?” lingers in the lungs, the breathable atmosphere, the senses spread the quest to every remote province, with each continuing a chant grows ever louder, a millennium of poems concealed, yet  awaiting conception, all entitled “why not”reverberating. <+> 7:36am 2022020 nyc everywhere
0
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 7:43 AM UTC
No know sense of infinitude (asking why not?)