• Bradley Nordell

"The Boltzmann's brain" by Eréndira Corona

A hotbed of noises was being cooked in the space occupied by that place, noises that boiled from the depths of that silent broth, and that spurted to the surface that formed a pristine reality. A deconstruction of soft, loud, sweet, low, underlying noises… Noises then merely random, that if they could have been seen, they could well resemble the wildly captured strokes of a Pollock painting.


I could perceive only that around me, during my stay in front of that window, next to which I was perpetual, impassive, and comfortably seated. With my gaze projected to some other place, otherwise nonexistent, I remained that way until all the noise inexorably dissolved.

For a tiny fraction of a second, I returned to the absolute silence from where I left a thousand eons before. I rejoiced in nothingness, in my primal shape. I felt the cold of space and the eternity of what we call time… The outright loneliness.


And I came back.


I returned upon my steps and plunged back into that sea of ​​noises. That voracious tide that I slowly transformed into sounds. Tinkles, whispers, voices; and then words. There were conversations that talked about everything but at the same time, they said nothing, distant laughter of children, waiters taking their orders, the cold clink of the silverware that seemed shining, the sip of hot and freshly served coffee, the engines of the cars that passed by the nearby street, the bell of the bicycle that was turning on the farthest corner.


I looked down as I glanced that strange, inconsistent, blurry object, in a state of total entropy. Only then, it has become curved, cold… metallic. And I waken up this mind of mine again, I colonized it once more using the spoon concept. Later, that’s how I continued that day. Perpetual, impassive, and sitting in the café next to that window looking away.

Editorial: Perhaps we are all just spontaneous thoughts upon the page of life, where order has burst forth from the chaos of being. In this story, Eréndira takes the reader through the swirling cacophony of noise and sense perception, to the moments that weave together our lives, and makes us wonder, who are we amidst the entropy? It reads like a Jackson Pollock painting, whirling you through the chaos that is the thinking mind, and lands like a boiler of metaphor and wonderment, sending you deep with an existential mind of a Boltzmann Brain. (Bradley)


Eréndira Corona calls herself an engineer who likes to appreciate reality from its different perspectives like in a kaleidoscope and has found in poetry and stories the perfect tool to do it.

 

New Delhi

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