Thursday, April 24, 2008



Careening through the cosmos on the slipstream of the sacred smoke I peer down through the cracked lens of the brain addled and see a great mob putting on their own collars and leading themselves about with their own leashes in the darkened dark of the vault in which past and future are reduced to a pinprick of light that is nay but a silly millimeter in diameter dancing to and fro, unable to tell wall from ceiling from floor as it bounces first here and then there in a jerking streak rising and falling as the pinprick remains so swallowed by the darkest of darkness that it never realizes that the vault it is exploring is its own burial vault.



Mark Prime (tpm/Confession Zero) said...

Wow. The zombified shadow knows. Knows something we do not.

Case Wagenvoord said...

Methinks he knows too damn much!