The transient nature of time itself is a wonderful poetry all its own. Lyrical melody that crawls into your brain through your ears and completely rearranges the ambient full-point of your brain. Leaves you trailing, yowling and wailing as you’re plunged deep into the fondant depths of depravity.
You go from a state of pure energy and goodness, a blank slate filled by the things around you. As time passes by you absorb the powerful rays and it drowns you in sound and light and FURY you cannot express in any kind of words. You die a little, only to be brought back–reborn!–from the vapor trail you left behind, the matter flexing and bending away, losing most of its solidity.
And thus you become adult, having shed most of the lightness and brightness of your younger years. In return you are imbued with the spongelike ability of absorbing ambient energy left behind by other stars. A sun alone, you twirl and burn, streamers of pyrotonic silk flaring out from your very being. A heartbeat pulsing against the backdrop of velvet night, twinkling and shining, birthing and dying.
To shed seedlings around yourself, each a little life all its own. Possibility wrapped up in a shell of fragility, cracking out of it to become just like you. Half your light, and half another, they echo what has come before.
You shed matter and energy, your light dimming before going out. A star dying in the heart of a man, you are nothing and no one, you fade into bliss.
And the universe is left a much lesser place.
ken block nancy reagan