When the gravity of the moment stops
time.
When the probability of the end
falls
straight through the middle and we are centered
firmly
in the present. A Wait so great, there's no
Entropy.
The firmament stilled against its center.
Gravitational
A-Constant against our emergent mass.
Intrinsic vibrational force,
the center and the edge. Entanglement
edge and center, overlap, and collapsed,
                                                       fulminating
the wholeness where the radius tunnels
into and around and expounding the
                 infinity of existence inside of us.

Uma sensação de leveza,
de extensão breve e duradoura.

Um arrepio percorre a nuca,
permeia o corpo,
e transborda em um arrepio.

Por uma melodia ou poesia
que ataca e rebate,
tocando a alma,
comovente
emoção elevadora.

Sensação infinita na infinidade.

Oh, se ao menos sempre tivesse sido,
para permanecer aqui, sempre.

Deleite e bem-aventurança, alegria e prazer,
emoção no olhar lacrimoso do coração,
alegria no sorriso da mente.

Se ao menos pudesse permanecer, sempre...
Prazer.

Do you prefer space, or the deep ocean?
Or the void at end of the world
where the ocean was before
it turned to salt? Or all of the above?

Me, I prefer the all-out sprint to the edge
where the toes abandon the sun-warmed planks,
the infinity of just existing in air, a moment
before the infinity of just existing in cold water.

There is boundless freedom only found
constrained to a minute's unreversed decision.
There is endless wisdom only gained when lost
to the great unknown, unwritten verities.

There is uncanny comfort in this pastel wind
over gray land, in the unconcerned moon,
in the one thing you don't even think about until
you need to find where you dropped your keys.

In reality, "all of the above" is the correct response,
and you can with joy fling yourself into the abyss
of any unfathomed mystery, any new creation
to discover whether you will float, or sink, or swim.

Or we could just spend the day together
at an art museum, leave your jacket and keys there
on the benighted beach, hold hands, and jump
through the wormhole at the center of the galaxy.

Infinity is not a number
nothing lasts forever

With a compass of sheer curiosity, I roam,  
An oxymoron guiding me to unknown realms,  
Chasing the edge of a world that’s never shown,  
Looking for paradise at every place,
Only to find in the void, a blank space.

Each question a spark, a thread to unwind,  
But this thread, it tangles, no answers to find,  
In the labyrinth of thought, I'm lost, confined,  
Curiosity's compass, leading a confused mind.

In the edge of a cliff, I stand up straight.
I see a mirror, staring back at me is my own fate.
Reflecting not my face, but just my shadow,  
The more I chase the light, the more I grow hollow.

In a labyrinth of thoughts, where every twist and bend,  
Feels both familiar and foreign, a journey with no end.
In the tangled vines of confusion, making things worse,
Engulfed in this darkness, being one with the curse.

They see me as mysterious, a figure shrouded in mist,  
But I wander the same paths, where exits don’t exist.  
Chasing a ghost, an echo of who I thought I'd be,  
Yet finding only illusions, hopes that deceive me.

I search for something lost, that perhaps was never there,  
A fleeting dream, a whisper, dissolving in the air.  
Endlessly I walk, seeking what I cannot see,  
A labyrinth of my making, where I’m never found to be.

As I rotate without and within
When I’ve died I’ll be born yet again
I’ve come and I’ve gone
Like the dusk and the dawn
Can a cycle be said to begin?

What

scaffold

eternal bounds?

Is it sinew, shadow, vacuum?

You reach, spirals unraveling becoming. Who forged laws?

Can the architect recall genesis, or memory ash? Walls hum with fractal hymns.

Each question births a child, becomes a labyrinth, sings of endless corridors. Beneath infinity's weight, does collapse spiral upward forever unfold?

It is a serpent in disguise— its tongue promises clarity, but clarity is a chimera. Thought consumes itself, meaning devours its maker, and nothingness births the heaviest burden: the need to ask again, endlessly.

sing infinite magic,
magic infinite sign

guitar ∞ shape ∞ masterpieces
one by one

It's ok to stop
It's ok to slow down
I say this as I speed through my sentences
We are victims of endless pursuit
Racing to get things done only to find out that new things need doing
It doesn't end and if it doesn't end then it's infinite and if it's infinite
What's the rush?

So much to do with so little time
We fear of our finite existence
But with all this speed we lose meaning
And without meaning, why do it in the first place?

We want it now but we aren't there
And when we get what we want it isn't enough
There is always more, always something else
Another task or another priority
Another need or another want
It never ends
And if it doesn't end then its infinite
So if it's infinite
Why rush?