As if awakening from a sleep no dream manifest without words to describe the passage inside the stomach of the beast who carries you further on into the glade and tempo of your own reasoning to be alive carries the distance into color or camp or colony of friends who left their own identifications at the entry to this empty maze of unlighted corridors around the cold, burnt-out pit of indistinctness which allows no solution nor conclusion arriving or leaving at the same time the solipt night which turns infinite chaos into the universe of your own pinpoints of light at the top of your head to let the air into the worm farm glutting thought forms from their own empty creation heals the center has not held but sprung alive from its own destiny like another crop failure on the dark side of the noon into which you’ve poured your energy like a sump or further sign of the unknown inside your particular darkness rancorous puke on your plate of seams.