i feel like locking myself in the cycling chamber of an airlock. on an abandoned space vessel. just sit there, between the bulkheads, spending time. wearing this crumbling latticework brain of mine on my shoulders like ice. cosmonaut bling. on one side the (predominately empty) vastness of space, & on the other the (predominately empty) tomb of technological marvels. i think i'd spend alot of time looking at the emergency explosive bolts. a room all stainless steel exept for red warning decals, the occasional flashing diode on a display. i'd plaster myself to the porthole & watch my orbit around the gas giant decay. apogee to perigee. cresendo to coda. ascendant to fallen.
dreamt of streams of gingerbread coloured numbers last night- a hansel & gretel hacker, a faerietale artificial intelligence. i rode to the last battle in a carriage made from a pumpkin & carried a sword beaten from a plowshare. the walls inside the mouse drawn ride bled orange & seedy pulp. there were faces in the air made of black ash & smoke, swirling about each other like devil's tumble weed. i was having a jolly old time, drinking shots of some black liquor slowly. across from me, sitting on the black velvet seats of the carriage interior, was behemoth, that fiendish puss in boots.
i'll cut your heart out, & wear it on my sleave, bitch.