Untitled
Ingress
The stillness of the infinite, contorting so measured it appears static. You are fixed to a point. With a lasers focus; you pierce the digital dust clouds. Blinded to all but the target, you fully expose it without consumption. In every breath a soul echoes, braking like a wave upon the walls of your room. The past is present, the future is present, filling up the void. Reforming then disembodied you cycle in this vacuum. In the vacuum, a cosmic poetry resonates, on the tongue, on the fingers it tricks the eyes and ears with loving shadows, draped in pink melancholy. Immobile ascension, to the beat of an internal drum takes you, as the present is eclipsed by the infinite.
By Henry Rice 2020
Eleven Images
The stillness of the infinite, contorting so measured it appears static. You are fixed to a point. With a lasers focus; you pierce the digital dust clouds. Blinded to all but the target, you fully expose it without consumption. In every breath a soul echoes, braking like a wave upon the walls of your room. The past is present, the future is present, filling up the void. Reforming then disembodied you cycle in this vacuum. In the vacuum, a cosmic poetry resonates, on the tongue, on the fingers it tricks the eyes and ears with loving shadows, draped in pink melancholy. Immobile ascension, to the beat of an internal drum takes you, as the present is eclipsed by the infinite.
By Henry Rice 2020
Eleven Images
