I see the forms, the shapes in all minor subdivisions of the immediate surroundings. Be it organic or artificial, these slivers of reflected light carry with them a great weight, a terrible consequence of impending structure. Straight lines push, expand, pulling with their finiteness a greater perspective, an infinite decompression. Small spaces and boxes loom, threatening to choke, to blot out the sky. Hairs are extrusions of twisting, bundled cable, untamed, gathering masses of dust, providing habitat for insects and generations of inbred rodents. A single droplet of rain provides water enough for a whole cistern, those bubbles of refined, reinforced ore. I can see an entire sewer system, a piece of piping infrastructure that would dwarf any medium city, in a single drop of water.
Normally, I can hold it off. There are times, though, when it overwhelms you. Night, indoors, closed spaces. You walk into a room with no windows, shut the door, and wonder what you will find when you open it again. Is that portal still the way out? Or is there a winding, endless passageway leading to nowhere on the other side? A place where there is no firmament, there is no sky – the only thing that exists is where you are at the moment. You might take a walk, go somewhere, but where you were ceases to exist. Moving from room to room is like perpetual deja-vu, the basic materials are so similar, the style never differs too much. It is absolute connectibility, but you are still a prisoner in its infinite confines. You are constantly surrounded by the four walls of freedom, only every place is just like every other place.
posted to: Megastructure Musings
tags: four walls of freedom