its not that i keep talking about angels, it is just that i never stop thinking about angels. my brain is a cotton candy machine, spinning the syrupy cogito malake into infinite sugary threads. spider gossamer thin membranes between faeries or lonely frankensteins, you know? i can build up black minarets until they split the sky, i can call them magog or ife, but we all know they're bleeding with the same stigmata. wrapping the whole thing around a paper cone & calling myself mordicai.