For some briefly infinite moment, our spheres of existence have overlapped and we've been bound to each other's centers of gravity. Countless circles of microcosmic realities spinning in a rhythmically chaotic dance through a hyperloop of time.
Each individual interlocking arms and ringing around some psychosocial rosie. With a centrifugal vertigo blurring the remote horizon, yet such sublime stillness and clarity upon each immediately tactile instance; somehow slowing down time. Some slow motion smell of a rose and it's lingering ecstasy.
I've unhinged the clockface of God's randomly mechanistic universe. I'm watching the cogs glide in perfect, frictionless alignment as each drop of time is beaded onto a string. Each string being woven at lightspeed in the hyberbolic sway of an unleashed pendulum. Swinging figures of eight in a clockwise fashion, creating spirals of photon-dependent perceptual existences that have converged and condensed into a microscopic pinhead-sized beam of pure white light that is then projected onto the macroscopically holographic screen of some preformed spacetime continuum.
