Please excuse the sudden disappearing act. Sometimes I write too much. Sometimes I write the wrong things. Sometimes I stay up until five in the morning writing all the wrong things at once, and then I end up almost writing off my encouragement by stretching my imagination that little bit too far.
I’m good at sudden, though. I seem to do everything suddenly. Just ask everyone who ever missed me.
I can’t see the stars very well where I am right now and I miss their arrangement in the sky. I feel closed in. I like being able to look out into the universe and contemplate my own insignificance. It comforts me, in a macabre way. We are all equally meaningless within our orbit, spinning and burning through space until we reach the same end that we are all bound to.
We’re all in this together, even those already assimilated. Between you and I and the stars are an infinite amount of atoms that have seen everything before and will continue to change and arrange themselves forever automatically, yet we worry about the most ridiculous things.
How quick is the ascent back to the sublime?