Raz
Bluelighter
The tension here is palpable.
Sun beats down from a blue blue sky and we all gaze longingly at Ra's little milk bar trips, we all want to be taken for a ride. We all want the ice cream and the smiles and the immersion in joy....but immersion isn't up, is it? Up is just vacant clean air. Beautiful nothing. Up is somewhere we'll never fully be.
Down then. Down is where the light fractures and dies and creatures shuffle the dirt of the world that birthed us into swirling mud which never really settles. And you might laugh and say the earth never formed us, but our corpses fill it and our rot makes the plants and the fish that fill our bellies. It's the circle of death you know, and it never really settles. Death never settles.
We're not a part of that either though, not really. We skate the meniscus between the death that creates us and the life that is so far out of reach. We are insects in a world of monsters and gods, too small for their notice and eking out our existence on the tension between them. The world we inhabit is nothing more than a trick of physics in what their world really is.
One day there may be more, but our children and our children's children won't be there to see it. Our generations will skate here on the tension of the world, our necks craning to the sun, until the depths consume us. And then we will break the tension. And then..?
I don't know.
I don't know.
Sun beats down from a blue blue sky and we all gaze longingly at Ra's little milk bar trips, we all want to be taken for a ride. We all want the ice cream and the smiles and the immersion in joy....but immersion isn't up, is it? Up is just vacant clean air. Beautiful nothing. Up is somewhere we'll never fully be.
Down then. Down is where the light fractures and dies and creatures shuffle the dirt of the world that birthed us into swirling mud which never really settles. And you might laugh and say the earth never formed us, but our corpses fill it and our rot makes the plants and the fish that fill our bellies. It's the circle of death you know, and it never really settles. Death never settles.
We're not a part of that either though, not really. We skate the meniscus between the death that creates us and the life that is so far out of reach. We are insects in a world of monsters and gods, too small for their notice and eking out our existence on the tension between them. The world we inhabit is nothing more than a trick of physics in what their world really is.
One day there may be more, but our children and our children's children won't be there to see it. Our generations will skate here on the tension of the world, our necks craning to the sun, until the depths consume us. And then we will break the tension. And then..?
I don't know.
I don't know.
