An absence of time, the experience thereof, not the knowing of, is. The space in between knowing each wounded word, every time time signature, and all events, is. The canvas breathes. Time scales a continental shift as is the traveler’s perception. The knife stirs the wound. Stars unborn exhale the immeasurable trampled stars given way. The relation between time and Spirit as diagnosed by an unknown architecture, an unbearable bridge between worlds, as is the phantom.
The phantom narrative as it perceives the materialization of forms, the sentient christening of time, the crucifixion of an animal whaling, the sprawling consciousness transforms.
What does narrative hold?
The fragmentation of this and every world.