Thursday, October 19, 2006

"All The World Will Be Your Enemy..."

& be covered in a layer of monsters. Lay awake, hungry in your bed, let your belly devour you. Your hand can drive a thousand nails, your hand covered in skin, filled and intricate with bones. Your hand can rot.
Vast among the hairs on your arm, the great traverse of your back. Imagine mathmatical patterns evolving like living victorian lacework, purple and green across the distance of you. It is nothing to merely get up and eat, it is nothing uncurl.
To wake and rise and stride into the morning once again.
It is everything.

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