Geometric Allegory

Life was mass-produced;  Vengeance damned by technological progress.  We ushered it in.  The patented shadows  Waited for the Big Bang's retrograde  When all the world's matter  Melted into a single, copyrighted pin-point.  Then, and only then,  Did the clock disconnect .  The son of a gun is the son of The One.  They calculated every moment  And gathered every page  Ever written,  Now scanned  And kept  In an archive  Of information.  When the future archeologists pull you from the grave  You'll be like some mummy in a museum  Taken from his tomb  And put on display.  You will be studied.  You will be analyzed.  The infinite monkeys  Will find a way  To rob your grave  And explore your non-linear waves.  You smell like profit, OK?  Generational slaver¥  Extended beyond the grave.  Here's the thing.  There's a reason you've reached ...

>->-->->>--->>->-->-> In 1889, a handsome crowd gathered  On a dusty sidewalk in Italy.  They formed into a tight knot  To watch the great commotion:  The horse-drawn cart came to a sudden halt  Right there on the street.  The horse simply refused to move,  And it did so for no good reason.  A scene unfolded quickly.  The driver, now immobile, shouted, cursed,  And jumped down from his cart and onto the street  Where he bellowed and spat  And kicked at the horse  With Dionysian rage.  When the horse still remained unmoved,  When it stood there, stoically frozen,  The man unclasped his whip,  And he lashed into the horse until strips of pink flesh fell  Exposing the ribs and tendons below.  Perhaps the horse would have died  Were it not for the madman  Who bolted from the crowd and ran to it.  The crowd watched as the  Madman charged into the st...

Part 1 Maybe you’ve heard of The Infinite Monkey Theorem. It goes something like this:          I f you take an infinite number of monkeys           and give them an infinite number of typewriters, One of the monkeys will eventually,           quite haphazardly,           rewrite William Shakespeare’s masterpiece, Hamlet.   Word for word, If they’re given enough time,      I t will happen - With enough Monkeys, Typewriters, And time. l,im,n ixk, And what of our bodies? And what of our spaces? Eventually, The same can be said of everything: Every single atom we've gathered From across the universe and beyond, From all that we see And all that we don’t see. Everything will implode And collapse in that glowing, fiery crucible Where finite moments restructure themselves And form into a n...