Crack your lips, suck the marrow from her bones. Bend over backwards and listen to your spine pop. We are the lotus eaters, we are the hollow men. We are awash in a land of great fury and white lightning - But can you see through this purple haze? Great clouds of white fluff, silver needles streaking from above, striking us, turning us on and forcing us to crane out necks upwards, feeling vertebra grumble and complain until, finally, we can see the face of bears staring down at us, eating our bile and spitting acid rain in return.
Microfilaments of copper wire spool around my bones, my heart is pumping, leaping up out of my chestr and into my throat - I can feel this strange fluid burning in my aorta, splashing over and into my lungs every second moment, a quaint blend of ethanol, water and shard reality.
WHO ARE WE, REALLY?
Cannulate this brief segment of humanity, drain what little resistance I have left and bottle it, put it in the fridge in an amber vial with a grain of dry ice - My hollow veins will then remember what it feels like to be alone in the world, for those endless minutes before the thumb plunges and prints, pushes and spikes forcing a thick stream of orange sunshine into my frontal lobe, irreversible, undying and ceaseless run-on sentences...