Dark Matter

by Blake Crouch

What a strange thing to consider imagining a world into being with nothing but words, intention, and desire. It’s a troubling paradox—I have total control, but only to the extent I have control over myself. My emotions. My inner storm. The secret engines that drive me. If there are infinite worlds, how do I find the one that is uniquely, specifically mine?

Sometimes artists find a way to place their creative-thesis into their work in plain site. Love it!