What stories are held inside a black hole? Is information even stored inside or is it lost entirely in the quantum, slow-motion evaporation that occurs randomly at its boundary?
Noticing the sharpened point of my pencil, it seemed to me that information stored in the graphene was slowly and tediously in fits and starts, in a way that gradually diminished the black hole point of the pencil, occasionally but unpredictably revealing its data on the page to offer a view or window (sill) into a compact (pent) singularity (story line).
(Poet’s acquiescence: I have changed the third line to “yet conceived,” although I feel poets are entirely justified in creating new words, the distinction here is too small.)
These graphite singularities
awaiting the Big Bang
of inspiration, but
Hawking radiation —