Watch from the window fall by a thought of leaves and dried fingers. Here. A morally satisfied afterlife and the bandages to prove. And the gold that shines like the sun. The dead sand feeling approaching the crocodile. And belief. The simple reason for making voodoo dolls and amateur pornography. I’ve seen this all in an instant. Exploding outwards from a single point of desire into other points of desire. Spiraling into the vortex and void. To begin with. Hatred is justified in the pursuit of falling. Understand it like a vowel pronounced forever and ever.

Looking at the white rays something is out of place. The visions refuse to stop; traveling along photons ignoring solid matter, soaring through it; the eyes can burn with repeated exposure. Flying disks arrived with brain implants (and a sense of satisfaction - somebody made a lot of money). The implants allowed mind control technicians to expand their research. Nobody knew what to think.