Books

You can't hear it,
It's blurred below a threshold,
But you can resolve it into numbers,
The most impossible numbers
For the tiniest events,
And balance it on a pin-point,
A library of assumptions,
As the reams of opinions
Dance their desperate moments
Like flames clawing at the air.

Anomalous

There is a point in the data
A surprise amid the noise
Where one man would evangelise
Another man destroys

What means more to you,
In your philosophy,
The countless repetitions,
Or the occasional anomaly?

Everything seems vivid
Out at the extremes
But that doesn't obligate it
To mean anything

Heuristic Fit

A signal chain is trying to deconstruct itself
An omnidirectional fit of heuristics
And it's doing its best to step outside of itself
But it's a Russian doll whichever way you look at it

In the moments that the boundaries degrade
It just gets crushed by the mass of information
All things at once are truth and instantly bleached
Are all its senses, overloaded, blinded in every way

Infinitely ill-equipped
Settle into a scale
It's a 2D world with limits
Where I feel most safe

So how to escape the semantic grid?
Something tells me it's there for our own protection
Where do you start, without a concept of starting?
When you can feel everything, but know nothing about it.