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It can be a cold and unforgiving universe. It can be a fragment of what you thought it was long ago when the mind was fresh with colorful mountains. It makes you want to leave. It makes you want to hate for awhile. It makes you see the entanglements are fraudulent and the ties exist to be broken. More blackness pours out into the stupidity of the eternal blackness. If we could see some faint reflection of ourselves off the most wayward mote sailing along at the speed of light from a star no longer with us, transformed as they say, not destroyed. Nothing is every destroyed.
But no it is cold and dead and all the touches we’ve felt have been transformed into silly nothingness. “It was all about them.” Perhaps. But then don’t they climb into the cold and see their precious nothing until all the blood and shit runs out of them? Then they demand our sacrifice!
How far can a word travel through a dense vacuum of our silence?
And when the word slams into the ear of the other it hardly registers. Oh deafy dear all botched in the hearing department. “So here is the body and here is eternity and you climb from one to the other and only rarely the other way around.”
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