Friday, August 07, 2009

The Hand of God

Its gravity my lord, its matter in time

Feinin walked towards the work, the matter made from cardboard resembled the spiral shape. He then proceeded to walk into the hand, This of cause is not a hand, but a giant cloud of mist,* it composed of everything you thought you knew. God's light shines, it vacillates though time, leaving tears at certain points. The character of Schiller are two energies brought as one.

Gulliver look directly at the hand of God, the storm which raged brought the boat up to the crest of a wave and then upon to flat plateau. This looked like a sun dial, the boat was beached dry and the chain was heavy to carry. Gulliver looked at the shadow, from were he stood, the dial casts at 2pm. In front of him, the disc approached, it glittered like razor sharp thorns. As it reached his face, it saw an opening., this is invisible to humans. The crystallized coil passed through it to eternity as it slid into the consciousness.. Schiller is truly fascinated by the mind, its opal shape, the blue disc that covers a porthole to the unknown. Once inside, the energy gravitates to nodes, it remaps and traces thought.. Whose it is does not matter. To the spiral, it fills the mind with possibilities.

Painters such as Salvador Dal and Hieronymus Bosch reminds us of the complexity of the mind. The shell from within is vast and void of anything but electrical pulses that carried messages to parts of the body. Where Schiller resides is in a small chamber next to Gulliver's left centre toe. The current is expelled by a force which equals all living things, gas. This gives a tingling sensation. Parts of Gulliver's mind is severely trapped, his language is a mixture of thought which remembers the past and future.

The man that casted the shadow, was the old bearded figure cloaked in black. Gulliver noticed the time increments. At the marking of two, a spider crept across it. She shed her strands, that in a shape of an arrow. The arrow pointed at me.

* In the Feinin study of Carl Sagan, he diverged; Search, begin to dream. Think, find where we exists is far beyond my conscious. A boy has time to play in the sand, marbles, pitching at the center of gravity. I am not alone here, beyond a mysterious cloud tumbling across a desert. Strange coils, spitting teeth, chewing gum women. Only if my child, risking everything for the sake of a message, We are not alone. The mystery remains, the cosmos is a gateway if we allow ourselves to think the possible, I say this for future generations solely in awe of life..

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