“An Undefined Narrative”

words by: kalani pokipala

A brief look into the constant, revelatory, and ever-enchanting future of space exploration. In it’s nascency, a heartbeat, a throb, but a tick in time, from the oven of stars, the birthplace of expansion, and a maturation of the human mind. An intimate welcoming into a burst of solar environments, time travel, unsystematic static shifting, and extra sensory audio perspectives, a rise from the heatery and a soundtrack to your galaxy. Inspired by science, fiction, space, time, and pictures in motion, a gift from the inferno, a tuning for eternal, unknown world’s wide, we are Verses Undefined.

Misunderstanding, as is the science behind existence. Challenged, as the indefinite plot of true belief. Chaotic and perpetual as colliding galaxies. An endless, immeasurable obscurity of sound. We don’t grasp it yet. So, let’s depart from this divine block to rediscover and relocate our Self. Upward and outer shelf life necessitates for transformation, though we are bound together by gravity, you and I. You’re in our Verse, as I am well-versed in flight and navigation. As gravity does, traverse and break through space and time, obeying your own laws of uncertainties. We’re going district-discovering and dimension-diving. Hope you enjoy the ride.

In light, love breeds enlightenment. In a subconscious world of dualities, we attract warfare with the power of “choice.” In dark, hostility imprisons the feigning fire of the unknown and unrefined. Deafening in the flames of inaudible intonations, we find faults of ourselves through force and sadness. In a constant war with the mind, we unfold unaltered individualities we imagine. But when dust dissipates, we rediscover wholeness through fellowship and conviviality. In part, through partying and ultra-extraversion indeed. Drinking the self into dehydration.

Water, our world’s natural invention. Through identifying the reveal, and reveling in the ascertaining grasp of creating liquid water, we redefine life as we want to. Thus, we forego a method of re-existing outside our fundamental neighborhood, breaking down our brick walls of martyrship, and nurturing the naturopathy of resolute astoundedness. Creation: a primitive upbringing, a core memory to hold the hands of to skip with, the invention of thought-provoking therapy, a place of art. Rainwater, a supplement to all that is unwound.

In the seams of our travels, we crash in between dreams. Subdued in the gravel of ash, strengthening to spring forth with a spright liveliness. Scavenging the environment, foraging the foliage, scampering the scene in a sense of terra-rising our new found planet, our glory, and our heart of existence. Rising to an amicable level of consciousness to jovially restore and bring balance to our Home. We’re forced to remember, therefore reclaim through scientific interventions and school projects to help us create life with our resources. The faster we run, the more we effectively attain. The speed of thought resembles light, so be it, and fly effervescently through the ether, furthering the frolic into the ambiguity of Creation.

In a reach for civilization, we find a fleeting desire to follow the fervent footsteps of nothingness, a limitless atmosphere of oxygenated forestation of awe. Yearning for a voice to transpire, the desolate disconnectedness feels distant, yet welcoming. A progressive lead into a movement, but a mellow diminishing transmute into this extrasolar planetary confine. We want to find others, but are perfectly in the moment with the Self, alone together on the journey.

Soon, there be a soothsayer to relieve this comforting negligence of hypothetical beings or life in a machinist’s gears’ remnants. Encountering such laminated evidence of artificial intelligences brings a vexingly resounding feeling. There seems to have been life here before this walkabout. We appear strategically placed into a column of statistics, a numerative narration of clone-worthies, a mass division under the anti-categorical subsurfaces. Nothing seems noteworthy, nor sensical. Yet, it feels good. It feels OK to be accepted into a labyrinthine, undeniably daedal, beautifully byzantine of a World. We awake to find that we are not alone. The willful sub-orbiting context of humanity, the constant moving of ideas of mankind has bartered itself into another form of darkness and light. An apportionment of reality that we are re-born to understand. A crossing of promises. A driving campaign of being the superior being we originally set out to be. We are the other part of us that we wanted to once understand. Nothing is the same and nothing is different. That is envisioning the sight.

With an empowering mission to prolong life and better a species, we write the software that creates the modules of life. Thus malevolently creating a cycle of trust, transformation, and turmoil. The grandeur of groundbreaking an enigmatic and irresolute celebration, an avant-garde approach to the coming of age, the birth of a genesis, the sprout of inception, and the virility of vegetational growth. This concludes the circular foundation of a vehement fundamentality of understanding. Somehow, we are always OK in the end, when the body stops and the mind continues to pretend. We live in a theory of everything.