photo from Pexels by artist Jan Krnc
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prose by Joshua Brown
Am I just a man? Skin cells peeling off and floating into the invisible soup of atoms gaseously crashing into each other, breathless but breathing life into the rest of the world, as lungs being inundated with free particles exploding from the sun, leaving tiny holes where healthy guts once held.
Am I just a man? Free floating water sack, a waddling tree, a public-private pool for cells, organs and invading organisms, preying on gravity weakness, perpendicular to the flat plane, sloshing over the infinitely old earth, brought to life by the spittle from God's own mouth.
Am I just a man? Electrified into this simulation, tiny wires firing reactionary pulses from folded panel, powered by the nuclear reaction beyond the very God that architected the blueprint of protons that dance from each input to each output, faster than light itself.
Am I just a man? Superstitious creativity, imagining more than instinct, an animal with dreams and a brain that reaches into the exterior of space and time, as I shit, piss and cum, the reach of my existence into Hell and Heaven, my will superseding even the Will of God Himself.
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