a Coat Worn in the Sun:
I awoke some time ago in Malton, finding my mind inexplicably silent. The normal narration of the mind had stopped dead, along with the Sturm und Drang of biologicality - sleeping pulses, quarter-rests into infinity. Only the sounds of the world filled my ears to the brim, leaking into my brain. Brain and mind, brain and mind. Mud and clay.
In Penny Heights, I awoke. For the few first hours, the time when quality and quantity are equally appreciated, I guessed nothing but some shock of being in a new town with new troubles. A strategic asset, I was - before the silence. Once night fell, the paranoia and witchhunt-rattlings of the dark were absent. The moonlight, the sunlight - what was the difference but for the key of the song they sang in? No difference, no matter, no difference. There is no difference between right and wrong, cephalopods and mammals, morning-noon-night and black-black-black.
There is no difference in life or death but the key of the song in which they sing. I am not mad - I am listening and reflecting. I am not a madman. I am a chorus alight, serving a composition in carbon and catastrophe.
Pyre-fishes, Fear-lichen, Chitin-strangled:
Kixette
Professor Dude Guy
Junebug Sue
Amar Kason
Ker Zoraida
Captain Utah
Major Zeman
Harold Newman
richard millar
Private Kigz
Snabbi Margle
Saint Gambi
AlvaroMesa
blackzilla1
El Turi
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