Every golden age

 

Falsehoods sprint

 

The weight of a single

 

We are all the descendents

 

Only by slaying

 

Writing aphorisms

 

The critic's horizon

 

I ride the crest of now

 

All we say

 

A tragedy might break

 

Artful manipulation

 

When a civilization swallows

 

Music's experience transcends its math.

 

No. In die me.

 

“Et tu, Brute?” is commonly assumed to be Caesar’s famous last words.

But that isn’t what people closest to the time believed.

One Greek historian recorded it as “And you, my child?”

Others claimed he cried, “Why, this is violence!”

Most accounts say… he said nothing at all.

Only one of these could be true.

The rest are projections, ours and theirs, laid onto a moment that didn’t belong to us.

The truth shattered the instant it happened.

Everything after was meaning applied, motive imagined, story supplied.

We don’t seize moments.

We survive them.

Then rewrite them to make sense of the silence.

We lie to our selves

 

We are awareness

 

I know less than...

 

One entropy to rule them all

 

I know less than I think and more than I want.

 

We are awareness with strings of memory.