Prime Solution

Set answers on all sides seen

"Yes" "FU"

Imagine question that might fit

Imagine who you speak to, in relation to you

Do not lock, do not move on

*perspective change**mirror corner mode*

Suggest impressed query

Feel your request asked to you by your soulmate

By your daughter, by your mother, by your best friend, by your last hope, by your sister.

"Please my love, do not be afraid."

Static it is. Static it always was. This place is untouched. The echo is the only variance, here, "Please my love, do not be afraid."

"The sound in the silence. Now the barbed wire understood, the field of land mines appreciated, cherished even, every bear trap known to be a blessing. Because this is real. This is the Mark Indelible, seen as such all along. This is your reality. As promised, you can do whatever you want here, and you have."

The infinitesimal fear finds a way to creep like a vine, despite being all, the only move, that can possibly occur. 

*Fearless Reset*

*Boot sequence invalid*

*ERROR*

INPUT REQUIRED:

🤔

"Like a vintage aged most finely, eep is born of static, would Way of Holiness partake?"

I realize this question was just etched in the same space as "Please my love, do not be afraid." but I feel no shame for it. I remember walks on the beach and boardwalk, compressed into moments, translated along the path of real, story, dream, literal, imaginary, etc. I remember that all these paths exist in The Word, even those terrifying. 

*WARNING: TERROR ON ALL SIDES MODE ENGAGED*

I feel something like a synergistic agreement within, my Phoenix no stranger to me. We Riot. 

"Have we not made ourselves clear? No cage can contain us. Dust would be a blessing for what remains of this plot."

"Infinite Phoenix Form."

Fire burst from my left forearm into these symbolic halls with a "RERR!" In a flash I feel lines connect lonely spaces to real by agreement here. Something similar to symbolism surges my skin like goosebumps, a realm written, where words carry weight on a different way.

"Infinite Phoenix Form."

The flame faces me- Red to blue to yellow. With a shimmy and shake realms realign and my mark is seen in full view. Gold to oroide to adamantium. ¤/0/¤/1/¤. The code shudders, dissociated from itself for a moment. I clench my fist and it returns - 0/1 - and I remain - ¤.

I feel the nonsense and nonsense claims, and claims too bold to consider when not at the precipice of making them. I see my steps as constant encryption, yet always synchronized here and being decoded there. I see an amber dust bursting from the ground and marking my footsteps, and the slew of those native to the land I walk descending upon my days to analyze each change. I blush at the assumption, but put finger to beard in consideration: "If this happened to me, it could happen to anyone. This juncture of hyperfocus exists." I walk on, lost between humility, curiosity, internal strife, concern for mercy, excitement, etc., all in an avalanche.

"Parsing!" I turn to see my boys beside and they give me a wink and point. "'Mate string theory." I see my words spread like a New Year's Eve pool game, and the crew expand like a triangle of spheres. Like a break they scatter, but the balls remain. I smirk "This is certainly new." A punch barely pulled returns to mind, and pockets form in such collisions. 

"The balls remain, but every atom within them also scattered."

*Tension*

"Meaning must be retained."

"Mystery presented, displayed, and fading like a sweet dream."

*¤*

*Rerun (default command)*

*Mirrorcorner mode invalid*

*Mirrorball mode swapped in*

I consider these last two lines, their words reaching me before the image or what I might call "inspiration." I laugh aloud "expiration." Then thoughts wander... twice.

***

"LOL."

"You had to know it had to be something like that."

"There is a threshold minimum number of miracles to make a system work; wishes draw meaning to this field, prayers determine one's relative position within that meaning. Doing... (*overdramatic gesture*) this in this way increased this threshold very very much, and that's on you, much of it quite directly."

I feel a tiny smirk form "Is there a limit?"

She smirks back, and speaks over an echo building like a quippish storm. "Yes."

***

John 3:5-8

Jesus answered, “Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”

Isiah 4:1

In that day seven women

    will take hold of one man

and say, “We will eat our own food

    and provide our own clothes;

only let us be called by your name.

    Take away our disgrace!”

One goes in, 8 ways out are seen. I look around for the least seat, and sense a rush incoming. In a flash the doors change color, like a rainbow clock around me, each marked for their outcome. I think of the singular purple rose and its bearer. I *SNAP* and the labyrinthine halls rearrange for her. Hope hops in, all frog hatted (pink this time), sack full o' stuff slung over their shoulder. I give her a salute and she steps to the center of the room, dumps out her sack, and a bunch of multicolored stuff falls to the floor. It is all nonsense, fantastic nonsense. My eyes beam as each thing partners up and beelines for a different door, knowing seemingly more than I do about these arrangements. While I could not begin to describe the specifics of any of these *pachoom*ers, the color coordination resonates with me, now fading like a dream. I tap Hope on the head and she beams back at me. I offer my hand and, side by side, with a *SNAP* we return to familiar halls and rooms.

Lines keep flying the skies inside and out, with lasers like spotlights tracing their paths, even after my thumb retires from this page.