Replicating itself in the minds of many, the myth of a Sinbad movie that never existed, exists. The culture collectively willed it into near existence. Though it only happened as 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 point, but to a particular attenuation. Imaginative fragments form an, at least temporarily, operative structure which more easily conveys the shape and scope. The magnetic hold, can again, keep certain attenuations in orbit, the severity of hold can be a limitation with some.

Or is the concept of imagination, just that, an imagined imagining, a virus or glitch in our operating software as humans, that is not an evolved state but a malfunctioned state. We assume a superior intellect, either an evolved or created hierarchy above or adjacent to the divine or cosmic ordering of things, when in fact our species is where things went awry. From the perspective of ecosystems and 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. Perhaps imagination is the thing that fuels our detached conquest at all costs. Capitalism is imagination. Colonialism is imagination. Crime and its punishment is imagination.

Conversely, like any tool, blunt and harmless if pointed away from the self and others and other things, possibly constructive, reparative, harmonious if struck in time and timbre of the ringing of the spheres.