At this extended point in the time-space continuum, I should be writing a paper.
Unfortunately, I seem to be circling the event horizon of an infinitely dense black hole that--for the moment--is my mind. My ideas are pulsating, yes. Sending irregular messages back to earth to indicate that activity might still be occurring. Yet the blinking lights are red, revealing little more than a feeble attempt and a weak frequency of circular thoughts. This fabric stretches beyond reason, a spandex infused faux-denim with endless pockets to lose things in. These jeans this mind those cosmos are seeking a point of singularity. One-- its the number we have to start with. One-- its the beginning we can't skip over. One-- its the smallest number that consciousness can destroy. One-- its the hour my class starts to turn in this paper that I'm not writing. I know that this life will go on forever, but as of this extended point in time, I don't need to know that I will always exist. Screw the Singular State theory. This life, these hopes, those thoughts cry for a beginning. Be it CRASH,BOOM,BIG-BANG!
Just give me a Genesis worth believing in.
