An emptiness watches from the seat of All. It stares across a violent oblivion into a cacophony of obtuse insanity. Penetrating points of light reach out and strike monotonous hums of brutal indifference, fed from a matrix of drones somewhere beyond.
The beyond is known, yet in mystery its knowledge is rot — an inborn seed leading to the desolate entropy of the very fabric of existence.
All collapses against the vision of attention. Attending to the minute details of the anti-void relates meaning to apocryphal cycles — elements that gestate the living and the dead. Meaning is contained within the vision, yet the vision extrapolates being through its mode of intent.
Intention settles the paradox outside of what is and what is not. Causation observes the seat that All inhabits, curiously morphing its meaning into deeper layers that settle out of reach. Whispers feed through cracks that almost give sign to their construction.
Where is space if space is cracked? And when the paradoxical happenings slip from the sight of All, are they free? Determinism dissolves its own arrogant tyranny, and the essence of what we are blooms in full. It exists — it must — for no binary of actionable consequence can deride another possibility.
I am, so it is, so we are.