By Riley Byers
When the sun sets it is not the vibrancy of the world which astonishes but the diminishment of all
other color. There is not room for two ephemeralities. There is the mystical experience of absence, and
the plain experience of light. There is the concept and the conquest of it. Do not deceive yourself that
these are one in the same. The orchestrated novelty of a word, or the pinprick to the point are just
proof that it was never there to touch. The 3D space of the world meets the atness of the words and
nds them empty, unlled, lacking. If I were to try to say anything at all, it could only be purposeless.
It’s worse than blind men to an elephant. We are taking just the cross sections with no sense of what an
elephant is at all. Here look, it is a circle, and an odd blob, I have discovered the secret to love. But we fool
ourselves. We would need an innity of time and even then our knowledge would mean nothing to us,
a puzzle of innite pieces, a thought cut to its scientic structure, disordered. And words, yes words,
are the culprit: the victim, the executor, the ax. And what of the economy of silence? Its tangible value?
You must become the snake that eats itself whole. Yes, you must be willing to last for a very short time.
