DIMENSIONS

by Jho Argote
Monday, October 07, 2013
9:15 AM

Logic. I would smear it all over reality and stain all existing crack of unguided ignorance in the world. I
often imagine it as a web, throbbing endlessly with questions, stretching out to the universe, its strands
leading back to the core of my reason, feeding my mind with the unparalleled reality of existence and
the ridicule of the mutual universal realization that all of mankind feed upon. It is a child, born from my
own reason and understanding, shameless, growing, growing, waiting patiently in the depths of my
mind for that one playful, blissful moment when I can no longer stand it. I would guide it, slowly, blindly,
into the midst of existence, and there we would dance and play . It would pull parts of creation and
theories and tell-tales and weave them all together patiently, and at times, for days on end it would stay
this way, troubled, consumed, focused, and unfinished, it would disappear to hide in the silence of
oblivion in the deepest and most remote part of my mind, wallowing with the shameful mistakes of the
past.
When alone, I would sit in my room, sinking into the silence of the city where I live away. I would
unleash it, like a pet, from the safety of the world that I held sway in the cavity of bone and tissue that
confines it and lead it to the core of what interests me at the moment, and there, in the middle of
questions, and theories, and lies, we would sway and turn, I would twirl it, and let it go, to explore, to
see, unminding, skeptic, faithless, meticulous, sharp.
Man. The most complex and intelligent of all creatures. Given knowledge and logic, and yet, and still,
they succumb, and they yield, to the calls of primal desire that connects them undoubtedly to all the
lesser animals. They have the living right to explore the complexities of the universe that binds, and be
gods themselves, and yet they tire themselves by perfecting the knowledge of the past, ignoring the
present, and reimagining the future. They seek knowledge as if they feed on it, as if they would be
better creatures, but what they overlook is the fact that they are already perfect. But then, every
individual tries to excel, and to be generally better than another, and as a whole, every generation tries
to degrade the last, henceforth creating a secret chronic competition among the ages, wherein the
default victor is the collection of the latest roll of genes. Humanity is perfect, yet terribly flawed. They
are like crabs. They are like moss.
See Man as a machine. An odd connection of cogs, wheels, wires, springs, chips, and magnets, all held
together by the single timely spark of electricity that flows through its copper arteries and powers it as a
whole. It is the perfect machine, standing erect in the full spotlight, perfectly oiled and flawlessly
capable of motion at will. It has the memory chip that outruns the latest database's capacity, and it has
the doubtless ability to reproduce itself limitlessly. It breathes, it learns how to live. But then, why does
it die?
Every man is different. It stands as proof to the endless array of codes all dated in the complex laws of
genetics. Every man has its own complexion. Every man has its own unique design of preferences in
response to its senses. Every man can smile and express at his own reason. Every man has two hands,
two feet, one body, and one mouth, and two ears. Every man has two eyes.

All humans can see, even the disabled can. Seeing is not only limited to sight, for it can be held as a
metaphoric term. Focus on this universal thought: Every person can see. The eyes can see the world, it
can see the future, and it can perceive dreams. Man takes this shamefully for granted.
What they dont understand is that the world they see is the world they own.
A man's perception of existence and of the universe is just as unique as the genetic code that binds him.
From his eyes, the world rotates around him. Time is his story, and the spotlight is his, for he is the hero.
Everything he does has a reason, and no moment is wasted as a blank scene. Other people are lesser
actors playing cameo roles, and everything they do contributes to either his rise or his fall. Perspective is
unique. Literally, it has no similar other. Others may call it what you presently call and spend: Existence.
But from my "Own Perspective", basically from the knowledge organized by my logic, gathered as
information from my Own Version of the Universe, this so-called Existence is my impression of a
Dimension.
Multiple dimensions exist, and in numbers, they parallel the population of the universe.