Ominous cloudscapes, mountain roads, music to rip your heart out.
Snow flurries warp past the windshield, motion-blur, a starfield simulation.
I’m triangulating off gross landscape features, echo-locating.
Assigning local meaning, at this manifestation of scale.
And you might make a thing holy. Index everything to a single colour frame –
To that obscurest of sorrows, the moment of tangency:
It’s seconds, minutes, decades away.
I didn’t blink, and I missed it anyway.
If a tree falls in the forest, it’s an arbitrary event.
Life’s hard-forks are just waypoints, too.
Successive phases of madness. It’s a single story.
No what-ifs, no parallels. And for a season, for no reason – a universe occurs.
Grains of its self-awareness circle the local star.
Eleven hundred miles a minute, artefacts everywhere, and I’m still hoping for an everything’s gonna be fine attack.
If it helps, this was never about you.
If it helps, consider the user…