The World

Once in a while, the world gets trapped by its own existence and creates something that it doesn't know what it is. An ecosystem forms from the matter which this generates. The matter becomes sentient, silent, two-dimensional. Then it branches out, dipping its fingers into the other nine dimensions -the tiny ones which curl in on themselves. The kind which exist only in the expansive post-conscious time of undreamt reality. In these crevices the animals flourish, and we read about their lives.

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