A Modular Existence

Entity, in its youth, was given building blocks to play with and constructed an algorithm for life as prefabricated perfection.

Entity, I envy your assurance in formulas.

Entity, apparently, controls chaos without recognising that chaos is the most dazzling unfact. Life has been dedicated to linear unfolding of this begat this begets that. Slotting this target into that outcome is hefty, rewarding work. Entity stops, stares back along the narrow path with satisfaction, then turns and stares with equal satisfaction at the eternity to be cobbled ahead. Gauge slots comfortably into gauge. Template determined, no error can occur unless failing is other than self. End is impossible. Immortality must be. No reward for life is inconceivable.

My life began as old rugs pulled from under me. I progressed to stretching knotted strips of carpet, faded and tattered silk kerchiefs worn by young women with high aspirations so many decades ago, hoarded string and old elastic, tying ragged ends together and hoisting my lines on impossible hooks as a tightrope suspended by improbabilities. Poised on the precarious slide of a microscope, I belly-flopped into space so as to observe my construct from various vantage points. Being is an internal speck of no consequence blown around the external infinite until cessation. Yes, this is how long a piece of string is… more or less. God is inconceivable.

Entity reproduces an impoverished image of hand-me-downs. Humans have become proficient in the emperor’s new clothes.

Entity, I envy your accomplishments within your neat existence.

My choice has been unlimited impossibilities and innumerable possibilities missed without regret simply because the fact of being bears no resemblance to modular constructs. I wear dead people's clothes and base my life on the remnants of their tattered holes. I wear dead people's clothes because they are pungent with the dreams of finite conceived of itself as infinite. I wear dead people's clothes because they reek of stale and forgotten ever-afters. I wear dead people's clothes because we are convinced that our personal end will have seismic ramifications. I wear dead people's clothes because personal end does not even register a shudder.

Entity, I pity your accomplishments within your safe existence.

[As an aside, I extend my gratitude to every artist involved with Discharge. I feel privileged to have access to the works of so many magnificent contemporary artists whenever I wish to indulge myself. I feel humbled at being allowed to contribute despite being unworthy. I can identify each and everyone's works at a glance and 'ooh' and 'ah' each time something new is posted. I adore and admire each and every one of you! Thank you for enriching my existence.)