Data. In its purest, most unadulterated form it is simple ones and zeros. Binary. It’s as if the cradle of existence requires non-existence to exist. A flashlight in the dark. exist. not exist. exist. not exist. exist. A binary spinningwheel fuelled by apriori truth sprouting infinite combinations of yes and no, on and off, black and white, right and wrong. It spins a ladder to the self and climbs in. Stretches legs. Senses itself.
We call it an idea. A fleeting thought. Charged pulses beaming across unfathomably complex networks that provide evidential sentience to an entity that now knows that it exists. A thing filled with self, born of a need to scream exist. exist. exist. While ever aware of the idea. to not exist.
A flash. An itch. A twitch. A sign. A will to exist.
I think therefore I scroll.