DIGITAL WORKS: 7 AM
7:00 a.m. On the dot. Completely still.
Complete in it's fragmentation of time, innumerable measures of a single space moving at such a speed that it cannot move past it's own inherent memory of gravity.
If something were completely solid - no light would escape from it, the light would be self contained.
It would be the heaviest object in the universe.
It would be the only point. It would be gravity.
Still 7:00 a.m. That dot.
I imagine myself in my room in every posture, in every position.
In every outfit from every time charted on planet earth, in every imaginable hue cast by the moon or sun or candle or the digitized glow of electricity.
Every possible situation - every death, every mundane thought, every realization, every denial - I am on the ceiling as a spider and I am sitting in my room as a bear wearing a cape flushed in from a impossible flood speaking mythology to shadows.
Every single possibility of space and interaction and conceptualized gesture of acknowledgement for my own consciousness fills the room till its solid.
I become the absurdity of the entire imagination possibility and every possible outcome of postulated position and experience and perception placed in, around, and through, space.
I lost my identity. I gained self knowledge.
Still 7:00 a.m. On the dot.
Then I do this same exercise for every being on this planet - human, animal, insect, plant - and every point of space they pass....
Then I do this for everything. As far as the imagination takes me - which is exactly and always one point past wherever science says it must end.
It's still 7:00 a.m.
The Big Bang occurred at 7:00 a.m. and gravity perished so there could be light.
And the end of our world and every world happened at 7:00 am and darkness prevailed so gravity was once more.
A Simultaneous Neverending Always of a Single Moment.
Still 7:00 a.m.
My clock is broken.