Following the Pendulum
It is a metaphysical fact: the expansion of the Universe rests on 26 letters. Interwoven in words, they continuously stretch the borders of the Universe, like a sheet of Turkish pie. Right here on Earth, there is an excess of words, quotes, stories. Libraries gather endless rows of new volumes. Materializations of restless waves of words left behind by poets and narrators. The shelves arch down under the force of gravity, unconcerned with the books’ value lined upon them. Countless voices, uttering the same questions. Tangential answers and unsolved mysteries repeated indefinitely. The world does not need another poet; enough writers have already lived in the world. As I acknowledge this, I am absorbed into another day. As if out of nowhere, a word surfaces inside me, demanding to be looked at. I gaze at it and realize it did not come from nowhere. It is what life brought to the shore where I live. One day it brought death. The next day- wrinkles. Another day it carried fear. And then
