I woke up to a world that was scarcely recognizable. Standing on the ceiling, I craned my gaze upward toward a floor ringed by pools of sputtering florid flames, beckoning me to enter one of them like some portal to forever that was both exhilarating and deadly. Time, dimension, warp, weft—all were dilated by
Life rolls along with a quiet ferocity that can lull one into normalizing intermittent calamities and ongoing emergencies alike. Maybe this is part of developing a coping mechanism, to fall into a routine that accommodates ruptures that could be more jarring, even ones that might have been delivered precisely in order to jolt us
Much as anything else in this fiction Of ourselves being the limit of living While giving up on believing or even Receiving messages from beyond a Din of our iniquities broadcast out to An infinity we scarcely comprehend To which some of us are trying to get Back again following the crumbs on The
The postmortem note said something like Failure to thrive which in this sort of world Is part of being alive as we cope with it all Trying to make a joke of the fall from grace When we crashed on this place from parts Unknown having flown the ether to locate Some