Part Two of Zero

And to THE origins they went, only to find out they were merely origins,
Pancho Pattern was older than he thought as was described in the archives scribed upon lines in the sky and tracks in the mud and thoughts in the eyes.

Baffled by his own seemingly infinite journey the distraught Pancho's legs became weak.

Damn these unregistered entries, twas not til my friend, the Lagoon, shed a wave did I recognize the brevity of my self awareness.

Yellow beckoned Pancho back out of his confusion as green did her best to offer diversion, blue relaxed so gratefully present and Ed and Joe sunk their toes into the puddle of origins. And ate eggs.

Pancho coagulated. In his search for origins he found only misleading components. He could no longer flow.

The eggs were pretty good, as was the green, yellow and blue.

Ed and Joe, aloof to eternity. Only the creations of Pancho they knew.

With limited resources and seemingly infinite time they began to piece together the fossils of the Patterns creation.
Joe would collect footprints and scrawls and tales that told all but all seemed somewhat limited to the theme of describing allself.

What a selfish Artist, this Pattern, thought Joe to myself.

Meanwhile Ed chased blue yellow and green and found the faster he became, the more he was deceived, as they juked and jived and hid behind split apart and put orange and beige into mind... E d be ga n t o d iss and stop. Wait. Orange. Blue. Where's Joe?

"It's all about itself!" Yelled Joe into the ether... still black from his perspective.

"I am in orange! what's all about itself?" said Ed.

J - "The Pattern, it seems to have created itself"
E - "I dont give a fuck, and I dont think yellow gives a fuck, much less orange"
J - What about all these piles of artifacts?
E - "Just get up here, its weird"

Joe had already committed himself to the pattern just as the pattern had committed itself to him. He looked for Ed in the blue, who sat ever so patiently waiting for you.

Ed had no choice but to explode so as to liberate his vision from one frame of the spectrum.

Joe's artifacts became illuminated with hues.

At his disposal was a relative infinitum of colors, accompanied by vibrations, sounds and waves and ideas that spawned from the factors perceived.

His palace was a plague of expansion.

He soon realized he was alone in the factors perceived.

The dry, cold, dark, where am I?

Why am I still here?
---------- pauses for a relative eternity ------------

As the sad music plays, to its evocations Im enslaved,
Why place the twinkle if its intention is to fade?

A new part comes alive and joins in the sorrow,
and momentum ensues to a rhyme with tomorrow,

Why have you forced me to dance? I am a trillion thousand years old,
too old for romance.

Why in this fatigue I suffer, but still let out a smirk?
We could just go to sleep if we weren't always at work...