What’s Only Left is Everything

Kubrick’s monolith blinks in and out of existence. It tells me that there is a universe inside of me. 

It stands as a monument to possibilities woven into the very fabric of space-time. Existence is fleeting. Reality is destroyed at the very moment it is conceived.

“Come,” the monolith tells me. I follow its trail of serifs and find myself in Schrodinger’s world as it collapses into itself past the Planck limit. A tiny thought in Laniakea dwindles.

The monolith waits, blinking, skating between this universe and the next and the next and the next. It’s always there and it always waits, waiting for the Big Bang in my head.

Photo credit: Jace Grandinetti


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