Everything will have been said

Now that everything will have been imagined, uttered, written somewhere in the results of multiplying vectors and matrices, you just need to ask, the sole voice left that speaks truly of the living, is the lived itself, resonating with authenticity. The intimately felt, the deeply personal, the quietly understood—these are the remaining elements that drive the vital force, the élan vital of existence towards it essence. Max, it is mathematics, not physics, that has ultimately disenchant nature, and eliminated what makes us what we are, our essence, a Homo narrans, a Homo fabulator.

I grab a white paper,

I sip black coffee.

I stare at the white wall,

I take a black pencil.

I draw a winding line,

Something wild,

In a world of calculated precision.

I sip black coffee.

I stare at the wall.

In the silence,

the pencil moves,

and I record a moment,

that cannot be summed,

cannot be modelled,

but can be felt

— here, in graphite lines.