Screaming in the Machine

I like small, dark places.

Some days, I feel there is a small, dark creature inside me,
scraping away at my ribs,
gnawing upon my innards,
knocking upon every chamber door
—to atria to ventricle to atria to back to ventricle
chasm-ing my lungs so to breathe.

It is clawing at me, trying to get out,
not even knowing what it is trying to get out of.
I feel it is treacherous,
I feel maybe it isn’t.

I don’t just feel it is a part of me but some representation of what I am.
Some separate face that is of me, but of a different room.
I am curious to know what that is,
and
perhaps
I can only be curious
because it too is curious.

A synchronizing desire
To know one another
Amplifying awareness of other.

It is not mother
father
sister
It has great rage
It is a brother.

Sometimes I wonder, if I too am inside something,
and in all my poking
and prodding
and biting at my world,
I am just some animal inside something much larger,
that wonders what,
if anything,
is inside of it.

Are we all but inside something, trying to get out?

Is everything within something else,
and there is just the never-ending motion of question
that goes

that goes

that goes

And we are stalked by the past,
and we are beckoned by the future.

We breathe,
in, and out
in, and out

We search deep within ourselves for truth,
so that we may have wisdom
to withstand and break free of what is around us.

We travel,
back and forth
back and forth

We feel the secret is inside us, and that the goal is above us.

And when we think of immortality in it’s most basic form,
we think of a circle.

An eternity
In containment.

Continua of thresholds,
continua of limits,
continua
continua
zeroes that don’t fit
for us to breach and surpass.

In a way I see the world in constant forms of containment.

I myself am a container,
containing multitudes of things,
which in turn contain multitudes of other things.

Matter possesses mass,
made up of a series of molecules (is this true?),
molecules in turn are composed of atoms and ions
contained to shape us,
or
perhaps
we through consciousness, shape it.
(is this true?)

The atom contains the electrons and nucleus,
the nucleus contains the protons and neutrons,
and they contain the subatomic particles the quarks and gluons,
and they, too, in turn contain energies and charges (is this true?)
—nebulous strings.

Nebulous still
Should we wander out
into the dark
The energies of the finite/infinity of interstellar medium
Continues to also be contained
In a raging mystery

Mystery,
this is true.

Somehow
I feel
They are all connected,
Like some great series of mechanisms
that are twanging and turning this giant machine,
that continues to reach and push the Universe
outward into an Unknown that it, too, is seeking to break from.

the more mechanisms
the more unity achieved
and switches flipping
and pulleys pulling their weight
and gears rotating
and cogs teething
and more devices set into action the farther and faster the Universe drives.

T h e U n I v e r s e

dependent on us to reach its destination,
desperate
for the Perfection of the Mechanisms,
when all things play their part,
to the destinies of their purpose.

When I think of it all,
the enormity of it,
and the inconceivable-ness
that such a detailed abstraction of machinery could operate
Even
if but for a planck in time

makes a miraculous of it all.

The ultimate of it, is too much.

And it struggles,
as we struggle,

through time and time and times.

Maybe it wonders why it was created,
if only for to struggle in its colossal-ness of impossibility.

Some nights, I am screaming,
Impossibly.

I think I can hear it screaming, just like me.
It is such an overwhelming sound
that it frightens me.

For there is a vast mechanism around
and it describes who I am,
and what is inside me,
and maybe even
what is inside you
and if you listen closely
so closely
ever closely

We hear everything screaming

Inside this great machine.

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