“The swollen moment at the start of everything. Every big and little thing. Magmatic pressure in an edged volcano, a fully mounted panic attack, a bulbous distended belly, a stiff bug bite, an engorged tick, a throbbing vein’s pulse pumped beneath oblivious skin, a verbose tumescent explanation, the bulging beginning of existence. 

Organs suspended by bone, concealed by flesh, bound by bands of elastic sinew, may as well be jello while invisible inside of me. Meaning builds the weight of complexity, and novelty, now mounded and hefty. There’s a feeling of time moving faster and faster, marked by many to have been aroused by the creation of the atomic bomb.

We say everything that can be said, so we can read between the lines for ghosts of clarity. There’s so much to say, it can feel useless saying anything at all. Most of it is unnecessary, and most of what needs to be said, is left unsaid.

There’s a shock wave from the beginning of time, written into the DNA of everything, into the fabric of reality. Untold amounts of time evolved into consciousness, letting us witness our existences together. Forced to navigate the horrors we create, unwillingly captained by the greediest, and loneliest beings on the planet.

Barriers between each thing barely seem to exist at all. The friction found there wears away at our bodies, creating holes in our souls that get filled by hopes and desperation. We have the ability to carry it all, to be glutted by all the feelings and every belief. 

The filter, the being within our being, breathes in sentient conscious subjective experience and breathes out a shared reality. For better or worse, our inner most desires become the world we live in, woven together by our deepest fears and our attempts at control.

Time is a single object spread infinitely across itself, while I sit with you and talk about our parents, and telepathy, on a beach, sharing lip balm, the landlord blowing up my phone, chain smoking in the cold salt wind.”