i'm ripe to be plucked, my thorns tucked up under my chin. i'm uncanny, i'm prepared to, without hesitation, go the fuck home. what is going on here! everything has that uncomfortable, confusing dream logic. trying to cram two diffrent things together into one. combining obsession with secret-selves. that whirlpool born by the collision of unfriendly currents. i'm all stirred up; the newts within the muck (redbellies) scurrying for cover. the clicker-clack of the chigago typewriter i call yours truely. but man this clogged heart of mine keeps pumping this black tar. it will keep the flesh machine running a little longer. hatching out of this faded occultist phase i've entered; getting back to basics with the wicked soldier of forever-night. of the age of iron & beyond the kali yug, even. i'm only me.