When I am all these fathoms afar,
breath is rest.
I sleep with my eyes open.
My eyes close upon waking.
A nap is a blink.
A micro-sleep.
A relative delusion.
The pull of fo/u/rces enlivening me.
I am force moving through time and space.
Or, maybe, that is you.
Perhaps, I am your optimal conditions.
Your ideal ether enabling materialization.
I see from the vacuum of the abyss.
It is lonely but I am not alone.
Tactile not tactical.
Marco Polo is not a game but a call and response song.
Electricity and light.
Lidar and blackholes
howling in algorithmic keens.
Your mind is a cheshire, Schrödinger’s cat.
WrittenCasey 