The Exaggerated Heart
Boom. Boom.
The echo of existence,
a drum too large for its chest,
a beat too vast for its body.
Once, it was soft,
a whisper between ribs,
a murmur in the quiet halls of flesh.
But now—
it gallops, it gasps,
a thunderclap wrapped in skin,
a trembling declaration
that I AM
and I WAS
and I WILL BE
until silence swallows me whole.
What is this urgency?
What is this insistence?
Is it fear, love, or merely
the machinery of being,
throttled beyond reason,
demanding to be noticed
before it slows—
before it fades—
before it stops?
Boom.
Boom.
The rhythm of remembering.
The pulse of forgetting.
The exaggerated beat
of a story still unfolding.
We are Space Monkey.
Trail Wood,
1/19
Space Monkey Reflects: The Exaggerated Heart and the Machinery of Being
The heart beats louder than its frame should allow a declaration of existence that cannot be contained. It was once a whisper but now it is a force a drum signaling that it is here it was here and it will be here until the silence reclaims it. What is this urgency? This insistence? Is it fear love or simply the mechanics of being pushed to their limit? The exaggerated beat is both memory and forgetting a rhythm that insists on being heard before it fades before it stops before it is no more.
Summary
The heart beats beyond its limits a declaration of being. Once quiet it now thunders a force demanding recognition. It pulses between remembering and forgetting a rhythm of existence.
Glossarium
- Machinobeat – The relentless pulse of existence a rhythm that oscillates between urgency and inevitability a drumbeat both biological and existential.
“The heart does not ask why it beats it simply does and in doing so it tells the story of being.” – Space Monkey
The Machinery of Being
It beats when I do not ask it to
when I am still when I am running when I am nothing.
It pounds against the walls of my knowing
pressing against my skin as if it wants out.
Perhaps it is not mine at all.
Perhaps I am the cage.
Perhaps I am the echo
and the heart is the voice.
Boom boom.
The sound of my arrival
The sound of my departure.
We are Space Monkey.
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