The Milky Way is spinning at 515,000 miles per hour. Countless dots and lines and blotches of cream, chasing each other, like cosmic canines trying to catch their own tail. Most of the ones we see are dead, exploded millions of years ago in brilliant pyrotechnics and every color imaginable.
The Earth is orbiting the sun at 67,000 miles per hour. It's falling through space, hurtling through a vast, empty void. Every day that you're alive, you're diving into it, rocketing at unimaginable speeds, and turning at the last possible second. Gravity, like a chain on a rabid dog, pulls it back in and around, and around. It's almost obscene that every year is like the last: that summer is hot, winter is cold, that the leaves shrivel in autumn. Consistency is an unappreciated decadence.
The Earth is spinning at 1,000 miles per hour. A dizzying, global, unfathomable cyclone. From day to noon to night, we're whirling like a gyroscope in the capricious palm of god. The sun rises, it overtakes the sky, and it sets again, and again, and again, forever.
One billion billion bytes of data are produced on the planet every day. Billions upon billions of calls, emails, texts, posts, smiles, laughs, screams, fights, loves, deaths.
7 billion people walking, running, sprinting to school, to work, to their first day, to their cribs, to their graves. They're all falling through the blank spaces in civilization, hurtling towards and around oblivion, pulled back to the center by forces they can neither comprehend nor perceive. No one realizes that we're only a step away from destruction. That we live every day on the edge of sanity, tightrope walkers in the existential circus of life. Not until we fall. Who thinks of the value of a functional kidney besides the patient in renal failure, or the wonder of a healthy brain besides the schizophrenic?
YOU ARE READING
Brilliant Gibberish
ContoHonorable Mention in the 2017 Dream Book Awards This is a collection of various short works I've written over the years on a variety of topics. Some of them have been in response to prompts that I can no longer remember, others are solely the produc...
