Untitled Micro-Fiction #1

It is entirely possible that existence may have reached a permanent feedback loop.

The exponential development of the real and the “really” existing solutions to various technical problems are reflected out to recipient consciousnesses which subsequently become reliant, whether they desire or not, on the technical prowess, ascribed to the conditions of their existence.  Thus these reflections too, are reflected, distorted and echoed back into the informational morass.

When a failure occurs within this situation of post-existential hypersensitivity, a quiet panic ensues and more information must be shovelled into the burners, scientific truth must be dispensed with a certain ruthlessness in order to reassure the hypochondrial masses.

A jet engine explodes.

A plane nearly falls from the sky.

We must be reminded of lift, drag, thrust, weight (tacitly of course)

We must be reminded of probability, asymptote, Ρ(A υ B)

If it were attempted to ensconce all our meaning, all our understanding, into a shell and bury it deep in the fiery ruin of some great architectural zenith, to be found later, a thousand years hence by the bastard fruit of dark, anthropogenomic nightmares, clad in hydraulics, artificial oxygenation, a deathly live carcass of organic metal and digital interface.  What then?  What would such a blank and pitiless gaze make of this pathetic relic?

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