Wednesday, February 06, 2013
I teeter on the verge of being overwhelmed by the size and complexity of the world—huge buildings, teeming cities, terrestrial nature, proliferating words, bombastic music. Why is there so much? Why is everything so confused? It is like a fabric but in multiple dimensions beyond warp and weft. Inner life is a maelstrom of hormones and enzymes, submicroscopic lightning and insulation breaks. There is too much to think about, infinite detail, finite body and mind. Reality is a bottomless lake. I am the world and less than a speck of cosmic dust.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 7:51 AM