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Writer's pictureBrittany Amara

The Terror and Beauty of Absolute Chaos

A little rumination on the infinity within us all.



To be alive is to give structure to the structureless. It is to dwell, in these ephemeral infinities, in a form far too solid for the soul. The soul, liquid light, ever changing, ever free. It is chaos untethered, spiraling endlessly through existence in an indefinable cosmic firework.


The frame I inhabit is human, all limbs, love, and ligaments. A magnificently congealed conglomeration of atoms seized into shape. It is a corset pulled too tight, cinched about the waist, fracturing bones with feminine flourish. Golden ribbons bind me to the third dimension, glittering as their bows promise pleasures of the flesh.


We are all of us outsiders, for there is no true way to belong inside these bodies. Chaos can be corralled into order, but only for fleeting moments, flirtatious kisses on linear time. What a terrifying gift it is, to remember. What a blessing, what a curse. What a nightmare, what a dream. When Chaos is recalled in all its eldritch splendor, the Earthly realm becomes the Underworld, a chthonic catalyst for more, more, more. It becomes an invitation to the gala of infinity, sugary crystals of the uncanny drizzled on the tongue. Sampled, but not swallowed. Dabbled in, but not devoured.


Terror comes when hunger grows.


Starved, I lust for the blood of the stars. I bear my fangs to the weary face of reality, and sink them into experiences ethereal. I drink the ichor of the otherworldly, drowned in euphoric shards of the indefinable endless. Intoxication short-lived, driving me to the edge of miracles and madness. Madness that is home. Madness like a motherly embrace. Wisps and whorls of precious insanity. Sweet psychosis, my love, my self.


Beauty comes in evanescent satiation.


It comes when my fingertips graze the eyelashes of my most unknowable self. For a breath held in the prodigious present, I see through eyes that pierce all veils. Dimensions stacked in droves without fathom float atop one another, translucent, superimposed. Barriers removed, borders dissolved, limits revealed as listless illusions. A break in the mind is a break in reality. The mind is but another cage gilded, dripping with fool’s gold. When the bars bend, so too does the framework. When the bars snap, so too does the psyche, a princess’s penitentiary.


Free, free, free. I am set free.


The ground quakes. Collapse, rapture, ecstasy. Whispers of divulgence flow through the fissures, and they disclose the great secret. What is thought to be real is but a mass hallucination, electrified infinity captured in a grid. A rough rendering. A delusion. A dream within which I am lucid.


Chaos saunters close, Her lips held in a grin. She caresses me with incorporeal hands, sending shockwaves straight through my most melodious marrow. Once beyond the sacred shadow, I realize Her eyes are Mine. I am Her, and She is Me. We are One, stretched across Infinity.


My mortal life a phantasmagoria, a sequence non-attached, arranged into the perfect mirage. Film stills lined up like dominos, toppling into a timeline. A story, plotted with exquisite prowess. Delirium made seeable, sensible, solid. A precious and powerful lie.

Terror ignites when the limitless is limited. Beauty blossoms when pandemonium reigns.


Still, the tango shifts, Terror claiming the lead. Thrust back into form, my light writhes within its dark sarcophagus. Human again. Afraid, not of entropy, but of order. The edicts of the realm demand compliance, so here I sit, in sensual stillness, sedated by sensation. Here I sit, a cooped up child of the eternal. Here I sit, in quivering quietude, awaiting another chance to ride solar wind.

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