Replicating itself in the minds of many, the myth of a Sinbad movie that never existed exists. The culture collectively willed it into near syndication, a shared vision of the possible. 

An alternative image of the possible. Different. Existing in many places at once, like internet conspiracy board followers adapting quickly to whatever kernel of reality informs their new viewpoint. The anonymous audience member anticipating the changes and feeling the solos upon hearing a new music for the first time. 

Thunderous clouds of change. Malleable to the elements, a crowd can change from orderly to not, a mob or compatriots, swept away in a wave of collective imagination, the future changes.

Replicating, not fixed to a point, but to a particular attenuation. Imaginative fragments form an, at least temporarily, operative structure that more easily conveys the shape and scope. The magnetic hold can again keep certain objects in orbit, the severity of hold can be a limitation.

Or is the concept of imagination an imagined imagining, a glitch in our operating software as humans, that is not an evolved state but a malfunction? We assume a superior intellect, either an evolved or created divinity or hierarchy above or adjacent to the astronomical ordering of things, when in fact, our species is where things went awry. From the perspective of mycelium, we are a brutish force of accelerated and unnatural entropy. 

Our imaginations for things outside of ourselves often lead to the taste for more, for unchecked growth. Imagination fuels our detached conquest at all costs. Capitalism is imagination. Colonialism is imagination. Crime and its punishment, imagination.

Although like any tool, it may be blunt and harmless if pointed away from the self and others, it may also be potentially constructive, reparative and harmonious if struck in time and timbre of the ringing of the spheres.