Polysemic Stupor

            From non-computational directions we arrive.

We may enter unaware or gingerly, with good and caring intentions.  We might have plans to rush right through – eyes cinched, hands clenched, heart throbbing – with risk and fear in angry justice or righteous defense.  We often stumble in.  We get tripped up.  It is possible we are shoved.  Sometimes we charge.

However we get there – within all that dark and churning – disorientation accompanies our arrival.  This temporal funnel – a passage where noise wins the day, interference scrambles messages, things fall apart and the center will not hold – renders us untethered, at loose ends – the chaos tube.

Occasionally we may notice our derailment as our words and thoughts cease mating, time travel whisks us to and fro ‘twixt past and present and some unknown yet desperately predictable future, full of echoey recalls…

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