by Shaun Lawton
This does not represent any known thought structure before or alongside it. For one, conditions would have to be replicated along all levels
—and they're not. The color of my eyes are known to change. From grayer hazel to a bluer green, it depends on the weather. Outside, the howling increases through the droning wind and I can only imagine the creatures stalking the countryside. It will remain eternally night now that the stars have locked down in the Universifreeze. Spirit dislocators send out tangrams featuring lucid maleficent vibrations tuned to geomagnetic north. The results are a world spun out of control in a frenzy of lust and battle rage. The echoes are still ringing throughout the denizen's heads, spread across the surface of the earth like a tapestry of dandelions. Thoughts captured by the winds of time and tossed sporadically across the land. Every morning like a parade of gathered pigeons, they spread upward to blot out the blue sky, building shadows which shift into nervous mountains.
Across pallid and scorched plains of bristly calcified networks an interred interlacing system of geomagnetic communications sporadically flickered in lustrous and pulsing illuminations racing in timed clockwork like the photogenic illuminations native to deep sea creatures. There was never any human presence around to see this parade of phosphorescent tribulations rippling across the landscape, and the tumbleweeds which ungainly passed over on their windblown sojourns never seemed to give it much notice either.
Baby. Please boil me some water. Put on another teapot. It's getting cold in here. Baby... (The water emits a low hissing which hasn't really caught up into any kind of steam. Hundreds of miniature air bubbles gather around and begin to disperse. They begin thinning out into the water as it swirls around in various whirlpools. Eventually, the water in the pot will begin to fully boil. Steam whips around off the top of the kettle and disappears into the kitchen)...