Crossing the Rubicon

We’ve uncovered the plot of a book
And we’re surfing turning pages
Everywhere little Oedipa looks
We’re trapped in Tristero’s traces

Are we hoist in some twisted hoax
Or a warped hallucination?
Shadows wrapped in mystical cloaks
Fleeing with your imagination

Truth’s a many-headed hydra
Every answer has a twin
There isn’t any box big enough
To squeeze the Universe in
Maybe the pattern’s real
Or else completely fake
Maybe you’re only dreaming
That you’re actually awake
Maybe it’s transparent
Or utterly opaque
All there is is a point of you
A drop in an infinite lake

Skating third rails of radiation
Through concrete tunnels of perception
Fissuring degrees of gradiation
Splitting the spectrum of sensation

Just a half-step of separation
Dividing diamond-faced dimensions
Tinsel filaments of reflection
Lost in transit and translation

Sorting scattered glimmers
Of tableaus twisted and bent
Stirring a mixture of pictures
Chronicling impossible events

Truth’s a many-headed hydra
Every answer has a twin
There isn’t any box big enough
To squeeze the Universe in
Maybe the pattern’s real
Or else completely fake
Maybe you’re only dreaming
That you’re actually awake
Maybe it’s transparent
Or utterly opaque
All there is is a point of you
A drop in an infinite lake

Well, hell, we’ve crossed the Rubicon
And the die is irrevocably cast
Whatever laser-razed lost lexicons
Illuminate the hidden past

Are we in a digital analogy
A virtual reality imitation?
Marked by quirky peculiarities
Emerging from rainbows of gravitation?

Lyrical spherical symmetries
Encompassing the whole of the Earth
Wrapped around parallel polarities
Of entropy and rebirth

Truth’s a many-headed hydra
Every answer has a twin
There isn’t any box big enough
To squeeze the Universe in
Maybe the pattern’s real
Or else completely fake
Maybe you’re only dreaming
That you’re actually awake
Maybe it’s transparent
Or utterly opaque
All there is is a point of you
A drop in an infinite lake