A Diety Beating the Drum of His Fragile and Solipsistic Existence
A burnt clay silhouette, pitched among charcoal darkness; Man, standing on the edge of everything.
Yells into the dense nothing that he faces:
“I am here!”
Then listens intently for an Other. . . .
Which, finally, responds. . .
“I am here!”
The absence of light pours into his pupil like a libating intoxicant and bewitches him.
He floats into a dream and imagines himself a figure, carved into a mud vase;
a vessel on a vessel. . . kilned thrice over
and glossed into a scene that shapeshifts into eternity.
A stop-motion engraving of a red-clay man walking up onto a cliff’s dark edge and loudly exclaiming his existence.
His words rippling out into the abyss. . . in the form of squiggled cartoonish sketches that scatter and expand with each new iteration of providential etching.
A ripple only to return from reflection or to arise from behind after an expansion and re-condensing upon the parabolic loop which wraps around his convexly concaving reality.
The only way for him to confirm the existence of any Other was to persistently exist in a state violently raucous hysteria.
Only then could he hear the return response and create the possibility for anything to exist outside of himself.
The darkness continues to pour into Him; He never awakens.