"The void is more daring than the whole."
So ends, or begins, this transfixing testament of constant erasure and unbecoming.
We are defined by the futility of our consciousness, which is always seeking to hold what cannot be held, that which is always shifting like the sand of memory.
A devastating meditation, pregnant with illusion, disintegration, and fragmentation.
How can we be whole,
in a world always (un)becoming anew
?