You can't hear it, it's blurred below a threshold
So resolve it into the most impossible numbers
For the tiniest events
And balancing on a pinpoint
A library of
The reams of opinions
Dance their desperate moments
Like flames clawing at the air

Books

A signal chain is trying to deconstruct itself
An omnidirectional fit of heuristics
And it's doing its best to step outside of itself
But it's a Russian doll whichever way you look at it

In the moments that the boundaries degrade
It just gets crushed by the mass of information
All things at once are truth and instantly bleached
Are all its senses blinded, overloaded in every way

How to escape the semantic grid?
When it's there in place for your own protection
Where do you start without a concept of starting?
When you can feel everything but know nothing about it

Mount Fabric - Heuristic Fits

Nothing to do with fabric, or how to mount it. 

Mount Fabric

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