a soundless screaming a soundless whirring a soundless spinning spinning spinning. trapped and doomed alone in a mist-eaten nowhere. this is the stopover before hell or heaven. pinpoints cast in amber straining and elongating running like live wax. memory the gibbering spastic blind memory. a soundless owl of frenzy trapped in a cave of prisms. endless nights that pealed ebony funeral bells. a cornucopia that rose up cuculiform smooth and slick as a worm belly. down a bottomless funnel roundly sectioned like a goat' s horn. lights whirling and spinning in a cotton candy universe. At least the four of them are safe at last. Living under the land, under the sea, in the belly of AM, whom we created because our time was badly spent and we must have known unconsciously that he could do it better. Outwardly: dumbly, I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance. Blotches of diseased, evil gray come and go on my surface, as though light is being beamed from within. Rubbery appendages that were once my arms bulks rounding down into legless humps of soft slippery matter. Smoothly rounded, with no mouth, with pulsing white holes filled by fog where my eyes used to be.
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