The Tower
#1 of Sylo the Mad
Words lifted from the stone walls of the cell that once held the one known as Sylo, discovered three days after his disappearance.
There is the presence of other things. Here. Unanswered.
Calling children on unseen leashes dance on the utterly devastated void--strings of life. Prophetic visions unseen. Unheard. Cast down into the well of of our understanding. Tomorrow we will die again. Today we are dead. Calling out and prowling, my children on unseen tethers. Make your way to the tower.
There is something under. There is nothing here. Something over.
They tell us the present is the only time that exists. We know that nothing exists. Everything exists. The present is an illusion past. A faint shadow of comprehension of that which was or perhaps never was. Crawling over the bodies and rubble, marble floors never looking so clean. Nothing goes unseen. Everything unheard. The words of the prophet, ignored, understood, cast up into the heavens. Children of the scrap heaps, coiled in wire, rise to take hold. Make your way to the hidden place. Make your way to the tower.
Do not linger and listen. The music in that open space shivers without cause. Vibrates without motion.
Move like seaweed in a growing tide. We can see the every particle of salt that dissociates in this eternal flood. Cans on string, you cannot hear what passes between minds that sparkle on these silken threads. They cut like steel and shine like silver. Still we press our ears to the rumbling ground. Words of the prophet cannot be unmade in such a manner as this. Come my children of twisted polarity. Make your way to the silent place. Make your way to the tower.
Twice they will call to you. One less fifty. The eternal rift that never approaches zero is zero.
Understanding will undo all they build with their hands. Comprehension will mock them from the pillars that hold the vaulted ceiling. There is nothing that can't be known by the open mouth of the creature, gazed within. Joyfully tearing flesh from their own bones, understated revelations, we can not laugh loud enough--the prophet sings and casts the loaded dice. Understanding will undo all that was woven by it. Come and falter not in the tidal pool. Take shelter where ice crackles and fire licks the edges of existence. Make your way to the tower.