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  • Time and time again, we have the nerve to be startled by the sight of dawn.

    Dark, the shade of hush, before warming to red beneath the Sun.

    I found my place of solitude by endeavoring for it to never be found naturally. So vibrant are the strings of this instrument and this medium.

    The first dimension, a point. A declaration. The point is a roaring monolith, gathering a place for construction less a meaningful construct in and of itself. The second dimension, a line. A barrier. A means to restrict, consume, or convey. The third dimension, a space. A vessel. A playing field for the ever-infant chaos, ever-long doing what it pleases.

    What of this chaos?

    Finding my place of solitude in the precision of rhythm guitar. And every rain has its wind, expounding lead guitar whistles and whispers while droplets' placement and delivery evoke white noise sequences. And what of my displacement of matter? Hands on the fretboard, have I really enacted a change in the chaos of the universe?

    Heart beating steady, polyrhythmically. Disinterested breathing going on beneath my eyes, I play out my line.

    Warmth of passion exits my lungs. I beg the question… barometric pressure, temperature, humidity, energy. I'm absolutely sure of it, I've changed the entropy of this system, but more can be less. Significant, anyway. What significance is there if I lift a barrel of apples six times a minute for three hours? None if you're more interested in the non-physical information.

    I step outside and soak up the atmosphere, exhaling and initiating exhaust vents like an organic biomachine.

    There, I find my halo.
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