Tesseract
(Pitch dark) No sensation.
No sight. No touch. No sound.
No sense of time.
Then, a severely bright stab of light.
Blinding. As good as the dark.
Some stimuli float by. I cannot move.
As if I do not know how to.
Have I lost control? Am I spinning?
Maybe. But, wait.
Something held me tight.
Not letting me move.
Yes. I am tied.
Strapped to what seems like a chair,
Or something similar.
Perhaps I’m inanimate,
Existing only in some dreamverse?
(I cannot be certain.
But then, certainty is just
Complete probability. It’s one.
Every other possibility is just
A value between zero and one.
Isn’t certainty a luxury just
Afforded by a few?)
Maybe.
It’s not for me to linger on.
Not when there is a lurking sense of dread
On whatever I am.
Senses start trickling in.
As if fed through some intravenous liquid.
I feel groggy. Everything is a blur.
Unsure if I am seeing through my eyes
Or feeling through my skin.
I piece together an image. I feel fluid.
Is this a room with people moving that I see?
Or is it a galaxy
Where a red giant has exploded?
Or is this an operation theatre and
I’m waking up before time?
Or is this happening inside my head?
— Some manic phase?
— Who am I?
— What am I?
— Where am I!?
Is this captivity?
Maybe! I cannot tell up from down.
Don’t ask me!
A faint, distant grinding sound rumbles.
Possibly my head? (If there is one)
Throb. Throb. Throb! Throb!
The pain thunders towards me!
(THROB!) Strikes with its full force!
Sears through every part of me.
Fragments me into billions of fractals.
I feel myself cracking.
I feel the intensity! Oh! I feel it! Oh!
I am a tesseract struck by Mjölnir.
I go beyond numb.
In the uncharted territory
Where you cannot tell pleasure from pain.
I like it. Loathe it.
Scream at it. Lust for more.
Fiercely push it away. Clench it tight
Like an ever intensifying orgasm.
Within me and without,
I become Chaos.
Later, after time unknown the fractals reunite.
Recomposed by a force that held them
Together at the core.
And the same ordeal continues.
Birth and death of universes.
Or seconds ticking on a clock
As minutes of unslept neurological abuse
Rolled into hours and into days and into years.
In this time loop,
Who knows how many tesseracts
Have fragmented yet?
When shall this cycle break?
When shall I rest?
