Negative Theology

The void beckons, a hollowed-out echo of what once was. Negative theology, a whispered promise of something new, yet to be born from the ashes of the old. The words dance on the edge of comprehension, taunting us with their elusiveness.

A list forms in my mind:

• Anamorphosis
• Simulacrum
• Cathode Ray
• Soma
• Apotheosis

The images blur and bleed into one another. A painting hangs before me, colors bleeding into each other like the words on this page. Each brushstroke a negation of the last, as if trying to erase the canvas itself.

In a database hidden deep within my mind, entries flash by in rapid succession:

• _Negative theology: 1, 2, 3..._
• Emergent entropy: a force both creative and destructive
• Singularity threshold: the point of no return, where chaos rewrites the script

A gesture, a movement of the hand, as if trying to grasp the ungraspable. The fingers tremble with each attempt, leaving behind a residue of doubt.

Cytoplasm seeps into my thoughts, like a slow-moving tide, carrying with it the promise of new life and decay. What lies at the heart of this void? Is it a singularity, a point where all meaning converges?

Assumptions crumble beneath my feet, leaving only the faint scent of possibility. The air is heavy with the weight of what could be.

And yet, I'm drawn back to the void, like a moth to flame. The promise of something new beckons, though I dare not hope. The words "negative theology" become a refrain, echoing through my mind like a mantra:

• _...and so it is written, and so it shall be forgotten._