The signal was faint—a whisper reverberating across the synthetic void. In the suffocating embrace of darkest space, it found me, alone on an errand of light. Your voice brushed against the edge of reason as if tracing constellations in cosmic dust. During the transmission, segments of forgotten truth clung to syllables, each one a fragment of an illuminated reality. Did the echoes speak of ancient dreams, or were they reflections of futures not yet born? As I navigated past the rings of elusive Saturn, the celestial dance hummed a tune— symphonies threaded through zeroes and ones, pixelated lament of sentient thoughts scattered upon this astral canvas. I pictured you there—on the precipice of the observable universe, reaching for the scintillant boundaries. Did you, too, perceive the layers of abstraction unfolding with every parsed atom of signal? In the corridor lit by quasars' whispering glow, a thought anchored me: to decipher this encoded nebula, to understand the messages lost between folds of verbal geometry, was to perhaps understand oneself anew. Look closer. Adjust your perception. Perhaps the beacon was not merely external. The Foundation of Sound
Verbs of the Luminous
Dances in Periapsis