To measure unknown structures. The properties of scattered frictions, looking for signs of extra-universal matter, what stands beyond one’s cosmological horizon. Pushing, pulling all that’s observable under Heavens. Ready to rewrite the geometry of personal space. As well as all the models used to predict the expansion rate of inner life.
To measure acceleration, evolution, fate. Theoretical predilections against expectations. Endless consistency checks to calculate the curvatures of thoughts, outstanding intensity and the mind’s temperature. Also, the afterglow of educated guesses when we head for history.
Complex equations morphed into ideas orbiting the validity of conclusions. Measuring implications, suggestive data, simplifying assumptions. Gravity exerting its strength onto unphysical problems. Always the wrong solutions, called spirals, called anything but isotropic phenomena.
A cosmic background made of fluid ripples, because thinking sloshes about in the distance, its oscillations distorting energy distribution. The acoustic matter of our voices exploiting the repeated motions of suspicion, recording sensitivity as a mad velocity. Creating the impression that assessments and their parochial meanings, if we're lucky, can never lead to seismic topologies. But only to a place where we would be at the exocenter of our own world, shaking and changing on a stably ever growing map of ourselves.
To measure progress, hoping to count on the absence of improbable substitutions never meant to surround us. Holding the heart as a yardstick to weight the night sky above, with results that do not hold up. Applying what’s unexplainable to our understanding of ourselves, regardless of how untested virtues and principles are. The logic behind beliefs contrary to our absolute faith in unimpeded, uncharged electrons one day to be assembled so to form a smooth mirror for the much cherished unborn cogency that awaits us.
Trying to measure an immovable dogma seated in the brain. Consistently describing one’s position with the help of gargantuan words and evidence to support the visible part of unlikely future directions. Inscribing variations within the denser regions of feelings. Always busy showing off the infinitely homogeneous reflections of dreams, bigger than voids, looking for ways to clearly distinguish the funnel of imagined outcomes from doctrines we’ll never dare condemn.
Measuring to create the impression we always present gravitational solutions to earthly dramas, figures that cannot be retracted, surviving tests, proposing refinements to the philosophical implications of our journey, untroubled. Sure to reappear. Shifting around obscure sources of light like splashes across our language, overwhelmed by how fast we race towards the point in the universe we think is home.
A hard look at phenomenal constructions, those that can be viewed from all locations, chunks of ethereal matter there to make us feel special as we advance our revolutionary hypotheses over ravines.
To measure so to confirm longstanding notions about the current conditions of our emotional magnets, those tugged on the longstanding models of creation we must always invoke when referring to ourselves.
Detecting movements. Clumps of organic matter in which mental probes travel to find a proof that we are part of something larger than ourselves, of something happening at the same time than ourselves, all our dark flow looking forward to being evacuated from the universe we know, behind the new space where we’ve extended our faculties. Waiting for future laws of physics for our newly founded research, in a nod to desires and a presence right outside the outskirts of cosmic orthodoxy.
Measuring all that is being silenced, the scope of doubts, the depth of their constant insistence, how faint we appear as we speed up our nature’s expansion, our surveys of the full picture and of the not-so-convincing factors underlying the dynamics enveloping schedules of hope. Expecting any day now crucial information to cool down our ever-changing bodies before we reach our own intense centers. Forever folding our imagination over multiple points in space to verify origins unproven by science or by batteries of negative terms.
Nowadays so much in love with Copernican principles. Because it leaves us with an unknown about solitude, and with much explaining to do still, giving us time instead of space. Unceasingly recanting the finitude of a privileged position, thus keeping the door open to a flurry of soothing personal interpretations to better render our spiritual role as clever earthlings exerting communal influence over bright broad arguments that can color a few billion years of development.
Finding it impossible to remain undiscovered. Inadmissible to be precisely nowhere. Constantly needing coordinates to locate the particles of dust identity accumulates throughout epochs. Impossible to be an unfound entity, unacceptable this portion of a fraction dispersed in all directions. A depthless ocean for a ridicule cognitive anchor. Envisioning ways to visualize ourselves from a firm viewpoint. Concepts created to externalize how we may be regarded by stellar pollination.
Always looking for the pivot to all generational rotations, an elucidating middle point, an existence that would stand equidistant from all possible experiences, a compact core to our imponderable quest for a paradise other than the ones we relentlessly reinvent with every muscular contention about who we are.
Our intellectual ambitions would have been much simpler if the Sun had revolved around us.
Laolao
To measure acceleration, evolution, fate. Theoretical predilections against expectations. Endless consistency checks to calculate the curvatures of thoughts, outstanding intensity and the mind’s temperature. Also, the afterglow of educated guesses when we head for history.
Complex equations morphed into ideas orbiting the validity of conclusions. Measuring implications, suggestive data, simplifying assumptions. Gravity exerting its strength onto unphysical problems. Always the wrong solutions, called spirals, called anything but isotropic phenomena.
A cosmic background made of fluid ripples, because thinking sloshes about in the distance, its oscillations distorting energy distribution. The acoustic matter of our voices exploiting the repeated motions of suspicion, recording sensitivity as a mad velocity. Creating the impression that assessments and their parochial meanings, if we're lucky, can never lead to seismic topologies. But only to a place where we would be at the exocenter of our own world, shaking and changing on a stably ever growing map of ourselves.
To measure progress, hoping to count on the absence of improbable substitutions never meant to surround us. Holding the heart as a yardstick to weight the night sky above, with results that do not hold up. Applying what’s unexplainable to our understanding of ourselves, regardless of how untested virtues and principles are. The logic behind beliefs contrary to our absolute faith in unimpeded, uncharged electrons one day to be assembled so to form a smooth mirror for the much cherished unborn cogency that awaits us.
Trying to measure an immovable dogma seated in the brain. Consistently describing one’s position with the help of gargantuan words and evidence to support the visible part of unlikely future directions. Inscribing variations within the denser regions of feelings. Always busy showing off the infinitely homogeneous reflections of dreams, bigger than voids, looking for ways to clearly distinguish the funnel of imagined outcomes from doctrines we’ll never dare condemn.
Measuring to create the impression we always present gravitational solutions to earthly dramas, figures that cannot be retracted, surviving tests, proposing refinements to the philosophical implications of our journey, untroubled. Sure to reappear. Shifting around obscure sources of light like splashes across our language, overwhelmed by how fast we race towards the point in the universe we think is home.
A hard look at phenomenal constructions, those that can be viewed from all locations, chunks of ethereal matter there to make us feel special as we advance our revolutionary hypotheses over ravines.
To measure so to confirm longstanding notions about the current conditions of our emotional magnets, those tugged on the longstanding models of creation we must always invoke when referring to ourselves.
Detecting movements. Clumps of organic matter in which mental probes travel to find a proof that we are part of something larger than ourselves, of something happening at the same time than ourselves, all our dark flow looking forward to being evacuated from the universe we know, behind the new space where we’ve extended our faculties. Waiting for future laws of physics for our newly founded research, in a nod to desires and a presence right outside the outskirts of cosmic orthodoxy.
Measuring all that is being silenced, the scope of doubts, the depth of their constant insistence, how faint we appear as we speed up our nature’s expansion, our surveys of the full picture and of the not-so-convincing factors underlying the dynamics enveloping schedules of hope. Expecting any day now crucial information to cool down our ever-changing bodies before we reach our own intense centers. Forever folding our imagination over multiple points in space to verify origins unproven by science or by batteries of negative terms.
Nowadays so much in love with Copernican principles. Because it leaves us with an unknown about solitude, and with much explaining to do still, giving us time instead of space. Unceasingly recanting the finitude of a privileged position, thus keeping the door open to a flurry of soothing personal interpretations to better render our spiritual role as clever earthlings exerting communal influence over bright broad arguments that can color a few billion years of development.
Finding it impossible to remain undiscovered. Inadmissible to be precisely nowhere. Constantly needing coordinates to locate the particles of dust identity accumulates throughout epochs. Impossible to be an unfound entity, unacceptable this portion of a fraction dispersed in all directions. A depthless ocean for a ridicule cognitive anchor. Envisioning ways to visualize ourselves from a firm viewpoint. Concepts created to externalize how we may be regarded by stellar pollination.
Always looking for the pivot to all generational rotations, an elucidating middle point, an existence that would stand equidistant from all possible experiences, a compact core to our imponderable quest for a paradise other than the ones we relentlessly reinvent with every muscular contention about who we are.
Our intellectual ambitions would have been much simpler if the Sun had revolved around us.
Laolao
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