"Cogito ergo sum" is offered only as a proof, it is not a means of creation. We are not created by our thoughts, we are the thoughts themselves. One thought expressed in infinite variations, always different and yet always the same. There is no beginning or ending, there is no such thing as nothing.
The dynamo at the core of existence are words spoken silently into the void. Words transcending all medium to become thought, reaching back through infinity, finally returning to the light of pure consciousness. Meaning itself has eternally resided here in this place. This place that we, by its mercy and grace alone, are brash enough and arrogant enough to return to words. As if we believe that by naming it we may subjugate it to ourselves, that by naming the fire we will not be burned.
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You can't look at this straight on, it will fall apart. You have to look with the sides of your eyes, with peripheral vision.
Or just stay up late enough that you can't see straight anyway...
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