buffachino
Holofractale de l'hypervérité
- Inscrit
- 7/6/07
- Messages
- 1 452
Just some interesting descant my friends.
(Long time no gibberish, I know.)
The other night I had a dream;
The theme of which was about transcendence, about death.
That life is trial of acceptance that we are already dead.
I existed as a moment, an event,
The reliving of my own birth, death and resurrection,
Perpetually recapitulating an eternal instance of adaptation,
An intrinsic propensity to speak fate into personification ethereal,
To be the ineffable origin of archetypes evocatively spun into being,
Ones essence reincarnate through the definition of the indefinable.
For this was the epitomic riddle; one more pertinent contemplated than answered.
No matter the vast anthology of paths through which I endeavoured to escape fate or alter the itinerary of unremitting destiny, rebirth eventuated nonetheless consistently in the same manner as before.
Each regeneration more wise, yet just as mortal.
Every attempt at divergence I made, every perspective taken, synchronously coalesced into how the experience inevitably transpired.
Each rendition contributing to the inevitable outcome.
I was epithelial phenomena, playing itself into existence within the interstitial wellspring of Elysium.
A moment of moments.
This dream, this cycle,
This is what we always are,
This infinity.
Peace.
(Long time no gibberish, I know.)
The other night I had a dream;
The theme of which was about transcendence, about death.
That life is trial of acceptance that we are already dead.
I existed as a moment, an event,
The reliving of my own birth, death and resurrection,
Perpetually recapitulating an eternal instance of adaptation,
An intrinsic propensity to speak fate into personification ethereal,
To be the ineffable origin of archetypes evocatively spun into being,
Ones essence reincarnate through the definition of the indefinable.
For this was the epitomic riddle; one more pertinent contemplated than answered.
No matter the vast anthology of paths through which I endeavoured to escape fate or alter the itinerary of unremitting destiny, rebirth eventuated nonetheless consistently in the same manner as before.
Each regeneration more wise, yet just as mortal.
Every attempt at divergence I made, every perspective taken, synchronously coalesced into how the experience inevitably transpired.
Each rendition contributing to the inevitable outcome.
I was epithelial phenomena, playing itself into existence within the interstitial wellspring of Elysium.
A moment of moments.
This dream, this cycle,
This is what we always are,
This infinity.
Peace.
rayer: i would really like to post something, but there is nothing more to say.
