All Is None, None Is All

There is nothing. More there is none. But then again, more there is. More of everything, everything which is nothing. All things are nothing. And nothing is everything. The man is gone, there is no man. The man is all. None is all. All is none. All is the man. Darkness is gone. Light is absent. Where is the dark? Where is the light? Seeing all dark and feeling all light. All is dark. All is light. All there is, is light and dark. Where is the hot? Where is the cold? There is no warmth, there is no chill. Heat pulls into grasp and cold seeps in in equal measure. No heat no frost, constant relativity of what is. What is not. What would be. What would not be. The man is gone. What to do now? What to not do? Nothing to do but everything else. For the man is gone. Was there the tiny man to begin with? Yes, because you know him. The man is nothing and the man is everything. And so this is truth, and  this is lie. He is thesis, he is antithesis. Tiny man. Giant man. I am the man, he is the man, you are the man, they are the man.  All are no man.

Out The Room, Standing Straight

                                                                            by shutterbug13




Small cracks in view, streams of white seep through. These streams of light, they thicken, they strengthen. And reaches and stretch, till it touches the man. Then it breaks a loud crack. A crash and a boom. Then there is no chair, there is no room. The man he stands, surrounded by white. The light blinds with not a spot of dark in sight. Cold it is not but neither is there hot. It is the more the lacking of cold than there is warmth. The man he begins to walk, in his new found freedom from the dark. He walks on and on. Walks ahead and sideways, upwards and down. There is no difference, there is no change. He might as well walk in circles or straight. He slumps down to sit on the white floor, finding he sits on nothing at all. He stands up again to see where he is. To hold right the top of the peak, of what is a peak. He looks around to where he does not know, there is no place to go. He bows down and looks at himself. The light now seeps into his skin. penetrating his being. It goes deeper and deeper, brighter and brighter. Till it hurts his eyes, his bones feels to shatter. He lies on the ground, motionless now. But what orientation is he in the light. What he thought walking might as well be drifting, for he realize now there is no floor, there is no ceiling. So motionless now he is, no point for moving. He slumps there waiting, end of this feeling. Brighter there is none, the blinding light is all there is. Emptier there is none. He missed the room and chair he sits. Endless space, Blinding light. A tiny man.

In The Room, On The Chair

Graphic by ikiz

Sitting on the chair, he sits on the chair. He was on the chair sitting. The chair is in the room, the room the chair is in, he sits on the chair in the room. It is dark. He feels the cold on his skin, prickling cold. The hairs on his body standing, the cold dank and thick. The cold it wraps around him, the dank it touches him, very much gripping him. But again, it is dark, very dark. His eyes wide open but he cannot see. He waits for the darkness to settle but it never does. It penetrates deeper and deeper, darker and darker. All he knows is this. He is in a room, dark and cold. And he sits in a chair. He reaches forward from the chair and it creaks. The path of hand trying to grip, only grips the thin cold air. Then the darkness thickens again, folding around even denser. And pushes him into the chair still. It grips him harder. He can no longer move, move he no longer can, held hard in position, motionless in pain. The cold in his flesh now. The darkness in his blood now, pumping through his veins. He rocks gently back and forth, the chair a pendulum of creaking. The cold now grips the heart, and cold liquid pumps more cold. He sits there waiting. The dark is all there is. Darker there is none. The running cold is all he feels. Colder there is none. In the room, in the chair he sits. Silent now. All there is, there is none. In the room, on the chair. A tiny man.