The Worlds End.

The earth exploded – Erupted into dust – Flesh & blood was just dull spots on dust – Rocks and fragments scattered into space.  But no one noticed it – It was too much to bear, too much to take in. People had no concepts to comprehend the massive space eruption, devastation.

So we went on imagining it was still real – We got on with things, mustn’t grumble, don’t complain, what can you do. We got on with things as if they were real, though nothing was real anymore; everything had ceased to exist except our imaginations.

But fragments of memory unintegrate-able into mental constructs hinted at deconstructions of reality – A reality we cannot see but only guess at – But with no signal’s coming in we retreated into imagination, imagining the world was real and destruction unseen could be just wished away. Never here, never seen, erupted into emptiness.

Imagination is unreal reality. Who can say that the world ended when we have no more time to measure endings?

Are we dead now, are we all dead now. Just remnants of neurons, cells scattered into space remembering our impressions of a world that might have been, our ideal reality unreal peeling away from our illusions, eluding reality ceasing – mixed with destruction of everything.

Is this some psychic purgatory, a limbo, a decent into hell or cleansing all manner of cheated devotions and emotions shot out by psyches savagery.

Same time tomorrow…  Come out for revelry!

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