Are we racing back towards our beginning, entranced in futures-past, is tomorrows technology the high priestess, the culmination point, is time seeding itself from branch to root, from the earth to the heavens, are we working our way back through the archives of an encrypted code entombed in the earth to establish telemetry within the heavens or are we moving forward through the heavens to re-establish communications within the earth. Will we stay within digital dreams forever or settle back into analog notions, could we be entangled in-between two strings, not knowing which end to untie and which to tie together.
If the shoe fits don’t where it.
Time bending upon the axis of a circle squared.
Tripping over the laces of reality.
Walking without rhythm the bear feet feel the drum of the earth.
Yet wearing the socks of logic makes winters frost warm the toes.
The square gives pause and boundary to the circles curvature.
Cornering on the right angles of reason.
Walking in step to feel the measure of the heavens.
Paradox is a mother fucker. The end. Or maybe the beginning.
Image by: Jorinde Voigt