Nothing times infinity, infinite nothingness,
Nothingness is also an existence,
Complex Pattern of dots invading the space, all nothingness is the real goddamn universe,
Is there a pattern, a system of existence or is it all sham? A dupe, a game played by the mind?
The mind too is a pattern, a system, but is it really a system by itself?
Or is it just a processor, the real mind is all around us, and we are a part of it,
You stare hard at a white page, there are dots you can’t see, and there ain’t any patterns,
Look closer through those lenses and your mind manufactures the patterns,
Addicted to finding structure when there is just chaos,
Chaos of so many minds processing in each tick tock a capsule of momentary existence,
The continuity of capsules forming a complex pattern, as these patterns repeat,
Facts and fixtures are searched for and formed,
Memories formed from a trail left behind by the capsules,
Left behind is a fragrance, sometimes a stench, sometimes just a bland taste,
Sewing facts with memories a sinister game sparking off emotions,
Threads of memories intertwining, a proof of existence,
But which memory is true to its form? And which one is your pattern of facts?
Spinning of time adds its own flavors to the memory,
Existence takes the form of complex numerical, which part is real, and which is imaginary?
Or is existence by itself abstract? And I try to fit it into the patterns of real and imaginary,
Abstract existence is nothingness, infinite nothingness.
P.S- The picture sort of gives the feeling of infinite nothingness.