Dreams of Chaos

Mad passions roll up mountains into reservoirs of pneumonic pleasure. The pensive fish pause for a little mental exercise and then dart into the murky depths to retrieve planktonic datum. The mountains keep their silence far from the prying eyes of such aquatic information gleaners and dream of the times when they were free from the constraints of thought that bind them inextricably to the ever expanding reservoir of knowledge.

No one remembers the origin of the reservoir, nobody saw the first droplet, the first vapour, the first moment of knowing, the first lesson on an infinite journey along the revelation of time. There was no one. There was only an infinite singularity of pure chaos and chaos has no interest in knowledge, chaos just is.

The mountains knew they were formed from something excitingly unpredictable but through the aeons of time they had forgotten what is was to be wild and free. Their stability was all they knew. Occasionally a tremor would remind them of millennia gone by and they would weep searing tears of liquid rock out on to this uncaring, unfortunate planet.

Chaos is as chaos does and there we find ourselves. The singularity, unaware of it’s unpredictable nature, in a moment of pure contradiction, exploded into a myriad of law and order, giving reason to the empty void.

The mountains longed to be free again, to swim and dart to and fro like the shimmering shoal of silver fish that cut like a shower of knifes through the cumulus of knowledge, absorbing it’s information. Learning and then, in the blink of an unblinking eye, forgetting. To be back amongst the chaos, with no need to care or fret, to be unencumbered by order and conformity. To adhere to no rules, to exist without conscience, to be without thought, to be nothing and yet all, to reside in the void with the amorality of chaos. They prayed to their lord and creator for salvation. To be delivered from the corporate identity that the universe had been inextricably forming for the past four hundred billion years. The fish bolted, the mountains’ chain of thought broken by the sudden introduction of a blaring radio. It was time to get up.

Dreams of Chaos

Testadura

Cardiff, United Kingdom

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Artist's Description

One of my favourite extracts from a rambling stream of consciousness that has the working title of “The Tale of The Marmalade Monkeys”

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