The Wake

character: Paris
young, intellectual, presumptuous

place: a bedroom
dark, desolate
dungeon of conundrums

jetlagged from the info highway, hours taut in knotted string theories, young Paris sinks through the conscious mirror
his eyes fire, flickering after-lights become fractals, snowflake silhouettes, and stars on the ocean sky

First Dream: Creation

the initial explosion
baryonic energy flung in all directions
shards of stars soaring outward from ground zero

first there was a festering sweat of dark ages, murky wick, infinite
followed by a cosmic fire, intergalactic plasma pyre, first ignition

gravity was gaseous astral clouds
an ardent contrast
bright glistening celestial colors dissipated into pale pastels of billowing mist
clumps clung together, other clumps of wandering matter were repelled, soon patterns emerged

electron like ellipsoid sights of gravity grasping satellites

planets came from shimmering streaks of pure white light dust, like foamy air bubbles floating in the wake of galaxies, rolling on a wave

energy and action from the initial reaction traveled at a fixed equation

eventually, inevitably, a middle ground was found betwixt attraction and repulsion, orbits fell in line and harmony was achieved

all existence traversed into emptiness, a sphere blossoming exponentially

Following Dream: Impregnation

Paris at the tip of a syringe, stuck somewhere in the sphere

flying with the universe and seeing something new, or something old, wherever he should choose

laser guided syringe sticking

domesticating

time-ticking

What about the emptiness?

(fading visuals)

(paralysis released)

What about ground zero?

(consciousness)

first sense: sound
Mussorgsky

then sight, the flickering fuzz of a T.V. set in battle with black and white