Infinitely complex, infinitely mysterious

all the supernovas

I am engrossed in the notion that we are all harbouring galaxies within us

[embed]Source: Soundcloud, performed by author

all the supernovas

I am engrossed in the notion that we are all harbouring galaxies within us, infinitely complex, infinitely mysterious

if we are star stuff, how many of us are supernovas in the flesh?

unfurling in the face of entropy and uncertainty, and diametrically opposing obscurity itself are eternities worth of light condensed inside a single blink within a blink (of God’s eye)

// exploding with such intensity that both past and future are tempted to fold themselves into the ear canals of the present //

the luminescence of human beings is light-years more subtle

contained within the inner sanctums of our (infinitesimally-sized) beating hearts are (the Goldilocks zones of) the spaces where we allow others into our orbits because we appreciate the beauty and depths we have glimpsed during the intimate “I-See-You” moments

the ones that touch us deeply in ways that make us forget our mortality and humanness temporarily assuage the notion that we, too, are living, breathing metaphors for dying stars

with brains and eyes and nervous systems, we are far, far less luminous (and awe-inspiring) than the twinkling stars we sing about in nursery rhymes; the fires that burn inside us are more contained and concealed and maybe this isn’t such a bad thing

I can’t blow off the notion that the galaxy I harbour within is simultaneously too much and not enough — sometimes too bright, sometimes too dim — a lenticular print of a human being; a walking, talking paradox in the spacetime continuum

perpetually misaligned, misdirected and// displaced inside the fourth dimension (like Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five)

maybe I’m a casualty of a careless Creator’s wandering hand into the margins of the Word document that was created in the beginning (but must still be periodically saved) an asynchronous synchronicity, abandoned by providence and pre-destiny, a chaotic anomaly of an individual that, one time, while basking in some primordial soup bowl, became entangled with the wrong worm-hole and ended up in a(n) (in)different universe

I have yet to come across another galaxy contained in another’s heart sanctum that has gravitated my way and expressed something within the quadrant of “Yes, I would like to stay and orbit the sun (at least once) with you” and truly meant it and so inter-dimensional fissures still form because I can’t help but imagine all the parallel universes where things happened (at least) a little bit differently

// I call them deep spaces — I have nine, I think, and a blank space should (the Butterfly effect of) another pretty little butterfly flap their pretty little wings in the purple haze of my nebula while I’m still burning bright //

maybe all this poetic expression is a survival instinct, a dying light rage, a 9-dimensional chess stratagem to fight entropy and all its friends

I am continually ignited by a dimming hope that (maybe) I will not entirely fade out before I get mine

// hopefully before Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse dies //

even if that means I only render a single curious eye watching from afar — through a telescope located in Alpha-Centauri Five — to a bewildering moment of wonder and flabbered gas — no, flabbergasted — incoherent (yet poetic-sounding) rambling at the sight of something so extraordinary, so achingly beautiful and faraway and nonetheless seemingly impossible to grasp

maybe all the supernovas are just agonizing to be seen, noticed, acknowledged, their luminosity directly correlated with the morbid awareness of an encroaching impermanence

maybe all the supernovas grew tired of feeling like nothing more than a light-source among countless others, a bright puncture in a staggering firmament, an inconsequential glitch in the matrix where it seems all of us were fated to fade out, to one day blip out of existence as we know it, like an Avenger caught in a war against the forces of the infinite //

if I learned anything from this existential Tango, from this tug-o-war between meaning and the lack thereof, from trying to dance with the universe but constantly finding my toes squashed, my labours of love squandered (no matter how much my rhythm has improved) it’s that understanding is often too much to ask from anyone, if not everyone, and this song and dance caters to the ones who burn with a similar intensity as the rest — at least, the ones who are easier on the eyes // and thus susceptible to (mutual) gravitational attraction \

I enjoy existing within || the enclosures of || fleeting moments illuminated // like lanterns in the dead of night, when the stars shine brightest (unpolluted by ambient light) // wherein I realize just how profound and peculiar it is to just be here wherever here is

I am engrossed in the notion that everything we know is just a series of random happenstances and if all the light in the cosmos were to suddenly disappear overnight, then maybe everything anyone has ever experienced was merely a comforting little interlude between two (indefinite) periods of nothingness punctuated by absolute absence (of light)

// a sine wave with no ending or beginning //

interlace a bunch of functions that come and go, and ebb and flow with temporary solutions to the loneliness and confusion inherent to the predicament of being strung along between yins and yangs, everything and nothing, zero and infinity

// a clock without a craftsman? //

word to Dr. Manhattan and all the Watchmen obsessed with tracking calories, GPS coordinates, search engine queries, inquiries into meaning, while losing track of time

I am certain that, in spite of our endless mundanity, we are all statistically improbable miracles, and, whether we know it or not, just want to be recognized and loved as such

and maybe this is what lies at the core of

all the supernovas

[embed]Performed and captioned by author