Always wanted to go behind words, filled with expectations as to the physical reality of that hidden space. For space is the substance I would be interested in if I could get close enough to see, to experience the wave structure evolving on the far side of any word that can be.
What do the fundamentals of physics say about such a realm, the one beyond discrete things, separate things ending up interconnected through, for example, a sentence? The notion of time suddenly vibrating, combining its essence with its properties.
What would happen to understanding once it became an act of pure invention, of pure logical simplicity, an act evolving on the scale of parsimony?
What kind of knowledge would I then possess on the other side of words, the simplest explanation patiently awaiting to be? Probabilistic discourses gone, but the mind in attendance.
Behind words, there would be no meaning, only the irrelevancy of gravitational pull, the superfluousness of finite or infinite qualities to time and space.
But there would still be something that exists behind those words that I keep scratching, in that stubborn hope to reach their rear surface. There would be matter eternally. Redshifting, interacting bodies, mental events organized as occurrences in motion, finding their mass and solidity in the relationship they’d have to each other.
I would no longer have a need to seek meaning. I would be outside an expanding world. Out of reach of the Big Bang. I would be behind words. Where nothing collapses. Where there’s only activity. Only curves. No sound, although plenty of oscillations. At last, a part of the universe. Formed by everything the universe is.
Like all there is on the reverse, much further away than a noun or a verb, I would be a plain, uncomplicated rhythm.
This is what I truly hope to find behind words as I exhaust them with a relentless spherical beat of the heart. Energy exchanges and cosmological constants defining the field of codicology: The art of touching the verso.
Laolao
What do the fundamentals of physics say about such a realm, the one beyond discrete things, separate things ending up interconnected through, for example, a sentence? The notion of time suddenly vibrating, combining its essence with its properties.
What would happen to understanding once it became an act of pure invention, of pure logical simplicity, an act evolving on the scale of parsimony?
What kind of knowledge would I then possess on the other side of words, the simplest explanation patiently awaiting to be? Probabilistic discourses gone, but the mind in attendance.
Behind words, there would be no meaning, only the irrelevancy of gravitational pull, the superfluousness of finite or infinite qualities to time and space.
But there would still be something that exists behind those words that I keep scratching, in that stubborn hope to reach their rear surface. There would be matter eternally. Redshifting, interacting bodies, mental events organized as occurrences in motion, finding their mass and solidity in the relationship they’d have to each other.
I would no longer have a need to seek meaning. I would be outside an expanding world. Out of reach of the Big Bang. I would be behind words. Where nothing collapses. Where there’s only activity. Only curves. No sound, although plenty of oscillations. At last, a part of the universe. Formed by everything the universe is.
Like all there is on the reverse, much further away than a noun or a verb, I would be a plain, uncomplicated rhythm.
This is what I truly hope to find behind words as I exhaust them with a relentless spherical beat of the heart. Energy exchanges and cosmological constants defining the field of codicology: The art of touching the verso.
Laolao
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