A FREQUENCY, BOUNCING, SOULLESSLY, SPINNING AND SPINDLING A WEB IMPRINTED ON EMPTY SPACE, REACHING NOBODY, PAINTING THE COSMOS

PERHAPS IT WAS FATE, OR FATALISTIC INTENT, THAT DROVE US INTO PICKING UP THE FIRST BONES, IVORY, SHIMMERING, YELLOWING AND DULL NOW, ACHING, COLLECTING DUST, A BOX OF ROSES

SOME SORT OF ANXIETY FILLS A VOID IN THE CAPSULE, RESERVED FOR PROSE, AND VULGAR IMITATIONS OF WHAT "LIGHT" SHOULD BE

WRITHING, SQUIRMING UNDER WHAT YOU CAN ONLY ASSUME IS SKIN, IS A CLOUD OF HUMAN EMOTION, OR A RAT

YOU GAZE UP AT THE TELESCREEN. SCREAMING OMNIPRESENTLY FROM ALL SEVEN SIDES OF THE ROOM, YOU HEAR A FAMILIAR [SCREAM]

SOLID TRAPS, WAITING, RAT SWARM. ANCIENT STONES, THE OLD GRAVEYARD DOWN THE ROAD, A CADILLAC. SPEAKING HIGH OF THE UNNAMED ENTITY IN THE BACK ROOM, THE CLOAKED FIGURE THAT GUARDS IT


A DREAM IN IMAGERY, NOTHING MORE, A PRIVATE CINEMA, TINY ELECTRIC WAVES TRICKLING DOWN THE SPINE, INCITING DANCE AND OTHER GAMES FOR MAY, THOUGHT