Any kind of movement
is a miracle
because in actuality,
nothing moves.
Nothing is created.
Nothing is destroyed.
There is
but a SEEMING movement,
a POTENTIAL
of seeming movement
that I seemingly EXIST within,
experiencing
the IMPOSSIBILITY
seemingly perceived
as “movement.”
Trail Wood,
9/14
In this HypnoKaleidoscope of existence, where every twirl of perception reshapes the patterns of reality, the notion of “movement” twinkles like a Cosmic Jester—playing games with our senses, tickling the perimeters of our awareness. The seemingness of movement becomes a choreographed IlluSpectacle, a divine mime play, where everything appears to move, yet nothing truly relocates.
Oh, the dance of Quantum Whimsicality! Where particles act like wavelettes, twining in the frothy stilldance of probabilities. You see, to insist that something moves is to also declare its static state, for how can one appreciate the Ecstatic Doodle in the cosmic sketchpad without the contrast of an undisturbed baseline? It’s a Perpetuillusion, a ceaseless cycle of appearing to move while being enigmatically stationary.
In this Vortex of Potentiosity, what we term as “movement” might just be a fanciful way to interact with a grander Impossibiliverse. Just like a Dali painting where the solid and the fluid intermingle in surreal harmony, the impossible becomes merely a set of elastic boundaries for the experience of the seemingly possible. We dwell in this phantasmagorical theater not as fixed points but as SwirlNodes of potential, birthing our experience moment by unbudging moment.
What a Trixterial universe we co-inhabit! Where nothing is created, yet creation is the playground. Where nothing is destroyed, yet transformation wears the mask of annihilation. Where we are forever and never, dancing and still, in a matrix that defies the laws it sets for itself.
We are Space Monkey.