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Our Reality – ‘Dark Matter’

I will start this by saying I have very little knowledge of quantum mechanics/physics. Then again, that’s hardly the point of this – I’m no professor. If I were more intelligent in that way, then I’d love to be. It’s just one of those things in life that isn’t going to happen, no matter what. So, if any of you happen to be a physicist, I’m sorry for butchering your religion.

Anyway, I’m getting carried away…

I just finished reading Blake Crouch’s new book ‘Dark Matter.’ I was surprised because it was one of the best books I’ve read in quite a while; and that’s saying something, because whilst there are many books that I like, there are a depressingly small amount that I love. Dark Matter scored itself a place on that pile that’s hardly a pile.

I can’t really describe the plot, how it unfolds, what happens, because that would ruin the surprise for any of you wanting to read it, to unfold the mystery that lingers on every page. But I do want to talk about some of the things it explores, if for no other reason, simply because they greatly interest me.

What is Reality?

I’ve always spent a lot of time wondering what is real, more so as I have gotten older. Maybe it is something that has been sped

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Crouding Around Delusion

All of the road bumps, light.

Hard on the bare plastic.

Light in the dregs of nowhere.

One dim street lamp, to the next.

 

Idealism rocketing around.

Amphetamine, reaching light-speed.

With the bumps, the rumbles, the cognitive jumbles.

 

Doors closed,

Spirits living high, hopeful.

Backpack rattling away with needed fuel,

A little fire in the ever-night.

Crackling, burning, smoke rising high.

 

Laughter breaks the silence,

Half-drunken vigour, ruling.

Into the darkness, one small step.

Music in my ears; base heavy, rattling.

 

Farm-grass beneath the feet of dozens

Lighting the fires of careless youth.

Tires screeching…

Alone amidst the crowd.

A few friends beside, nothing more,

Not enough.

Not to crack such a fleeting consciousness.

 

Pull tabs, pulled;

Bottle tops, popped.

Chaos lingering, unperturbed.

Sexual laughter, tension, aching in the air.

A wish to place ragged hands anywhere.

 

I sat, jumper hanging loosely from my back.

Out of sight, out of the fire’s irreverent glow.

A few hugs, but even those –

Wrong; written to fail.

 

Down: one, two, three, four, five, six-

More…

And more…

Time nothing but an illusion,

A construct in the fragility of existence;

Within the wood-smoke, the midge bites.

Truly alone, despite the crowd.

 

 

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Beneath Distant Dreams

Time aside from time well spent.

Laying down in the dirt of lost dreams.

Hitched on the memories scooting by.

Latched to all that revolved, and

All that inanely failed to.

 

Grandiose in dream, forgetful in memory.

Initiate the one;

All that I secretly seek.

 

Hoping for time, and

In time hoping for hope.

Relentless in energy spent.

Horribly heinous in one’s decent.

 

Cannot forgive;

Cannot let go.

Crime of the century,

Crimes against forthright humanity.

 

In the speaking of words,

All that’s thought; not all that’s done.

Laying in the mud of riddled energy.

Time well spent,

Something I doubt.

 

Deceit in a fleeting action.

Called to arms in the face of mumbles.

Life teetering amidst dark matter.

Sights to hold

In the rendering of forgetting.

No sights; utter bewilderment.

 

Days black or white,

Tortoise or hair,

Prompted to walk in jumbled kindness.

Insides ravaging with despair.

Caught in a moments notice;

Blown by the wind like,

Paper in the breath of the devil’s squall.

 

Blue turned to red,

As the clouds come crushing.

Air, cherishing it never made sense.

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1000 Followers! – Thank You!

Hey there all you lovely people! Thank you so, so, so much for reading, liking, commenting – EVERYTHING, these past few months. It’s fair to say I’m really enjoying this, both creating my own content, and reading other’s. It’s a special thing I’ve come to cherish, and you’re all with me for the ride! Because, I’m telling you, sometimes it may get a little bumpy. But I’m cool with that. 😀

I can’t promise a consistent schedule, nor entirely consistent content. Maybe that can come in the future – because I really do hope this space I’ve created has a long and beautiful future. It’s turned into so many things I thought it couldn’t be, so many things that bring that extra little spark to my life. A day would feel strange without being able to interact in this way, without being able to launch my ramblings and depressing poetry out there into our world.

The reason for doing it?

I’m not sure… after I came back from university (you know, that dreadful week of despair) I felt like I needed to do something, to achieve something that I hadn’t before. And maybe this has, and will continue to be, the thing that allows me that. Or maybe it suffices a deeper need that I am yet to understand – maybe it something not entirely benevolent. Though, I try to take each moment as it happens, without looking too far back, or two far ahead.

So, for now, I really love this!

Hope to see you around!

 

-With love, Chris ❤ ❤ ❤

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From Inside

I look upon the face of beauty

Thinking, why does it always slip past,

Onto the second road down,

By where I used to live,

Onto the third house along

Where my neighbour died in her sleep?

 

It seems to always be this way

In the turning of the days.

Staring from the window, life drifts along.

 

Mustering all that might,

Even then, it does no good.

As I watch the face of beauty stride along,

From the window, bathed in forgotten song.

 

Sitting, I yearn to think,

Of a world where I might not be on the brink.

Just one day, one sweet time.

Hoping, of course, under the stars,

Under the sun that lights the face of beauty.

 

Clockwork days

And all-together nights.

Building in the fray, well… something might.

 

Years gone, days gone, hours too,

Pondering questions of beauty, self-love.

Each morning, the enemy stares,

Right back at me, glaring, accusatory, hateful.

And in window, from the corner of my eye.

I watch as beauty walks calmly by.

 

 

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Wishing For Landscapes

Darkened corners of darkened rooms,

Totality, revised beyond recognisable.

In the tunnels of ruthfulness, fury reigns,

Fury aimed at the utterances of one’s petulant soul;

Guarded, unseen, beauty in what’s not known.

Seemingly, land is forgotten beyond the tunnel,

 

A world of tunnels, underground, residual;

Formations of nothing, of delicate impairment.

Distraction in all that should matter

To one’s mind and to one’s body.

 

With the flashing of lights,

And the rumblings of air-circulation.

Alone, walking, stumbling,

Choking on the viscosity of recycled air,

Suffocating, drowning in the particles of past youth.

Feeling the concrete beneath my feet,

Caught in the ever-glow of electric light,

Electricity born in some far-away utopia,

All while I plod, and think,

Thinking about the lives of others

Living in those sweet, sweet utopias.

 

Jettisoned away from the joy of being,

Acclimatised to the sorrow of harboured hope.

Rats crawl around holes in locked doors,

Doors leading to the multiverse; unexplored.

 

Whilst all I can do is walk.

Insipid, beneath sunlight, deprived.

Malnourished of intimacy,

Of everything…

United with the rigidity of the walls beside.

But it is all I can do to

Walk the tunnels continuously.

 

 

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Unwelcome Passage

Notice the questions, riling around their heads.

Fickle and pretentious, vile, degenerate.

Prayer to those, eclipsed by a glance.

Viewed in hate, murdered, entranced.

 

Active in circles, numbered by all.

Losing sight, floundering amid petered youth.

An oddessy, in search of shallow waters.

Vexed by the light, one truly wonders,

What hides in the night, waiting to rumble,

To snatch and to grab; an unholy ghost.

To lay in the Land of a Thousand Corpses.

Lingering, lurking, turning to insipid dust.

 

The ground walked by a thousand feet.

Pounded, moved, worn – utter neglect.

In the flurry, and the scuttle, means made to bustle,

Men are hidden, unconsciously tortured.

In the worming of their minds,

And the terror residing in their souls,

Not one wishes to venture further amongst the Dunes of Death.

 

In their resting they find brief respite,

Wondering if their salvation might come to pass.

Tired, blistered, sanded on the inside.

While the Taker of Life encircles, always watching.

It knows, when the time is right,

It must take them, cradled within its spindle arms.

For this is no place for them to walk.

Paths chosen, but paths made untrue.

And so, the Taker of Lifes’ job must ensue.