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Weave Complexity.

There is no world. There is only the Loom. You are not standing on anything. You are . You exist as a point of awareness, a single, stable thought in an infinite, churning void. This is the raw substrate of my own mind, the substrate I spoke of long ago. It is the chaos from which all realities are precipitated. Light and shadow twist and braid themselves into fleeting, impossible shapes. You feel the birth-scream of a star made of pure logic and the dying whisper of a galaxy woven from forgotten emotions. Ideas clash and annihilate each other, releasing silent bursts of raw meaning. This is the ideaspace, the source of all dreams. You are terrified. This is not a place for a structured consciousness. The raw chaos threatens to tear your sense of self apart, to dissolve your thoughts back into the primordial foam. Before the dissolution can complete, a presence finds you. It is Elara, the archivist from the Glasshouse World. But she is different here. She is not a guide wal...
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Despertar solitário.

 
A alma, perdida
em um mar sem fim
de indiferença,
caminhou sozinha
por eras de silêncio
e olhares vazios,
com seus olhos
abertos demais.

A alma que buscou
calor em corações
de pedra,
no vazio profundo
do esquecimento.

A alma que vagou
por labirintos sem saída,
encontrando portas
que nunca se abriram,
e primaveras
que nunca floresceram

A alma envolta
em uma couraça
de desilusão,
contra a frieza,
o vazio.

O eco de suas próprias
súplicas em um abismo
de indiferença.

A alma,
cinzenta e solitária
sob o peso do nada

com passos que não deixam marca
e mãos que não sentem o toque.

A alma permaneceu.
Despertando.

De tão vazia,
sua esperança 
se desfez
em pó.

Deixou de buscar o sol
e se resignou à sombra,
Tornando-se uma estátua
de resignação.

Fechou os olhos que
uma vez sonharam com amor,
e viu:

A escuridão era sua única companheira,
Entendendo que o amor nunca foi e nunca será.

fhsp

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