“The onlookers’ faces were turning to porcelain, then to thin paper masks on the surface of flowing film—still shielded, then irrelevant as I swept behind the pasteboard stage of architecture and on into the airwaves. The end—every tiny hero, remember their story. The end—every history. The end—every youth in the adventure street. The end —every lover. If you won’t do it, then I will. Men’s fields were old rags of land, the setting sun was enraptured, a huge edge and wheel, fire descending a sky... covered in bruises. Intersecting dimensional sightlines tangled the continents, a mountain was a green city of things, stone depths. A little air high in the sky singing as the universe flew into my eyes. I was a single monochrome cell accelerating through kidstuff and clashing superstorms. A squall of ultraviolet geometrics and other junk intended to distract. Red gold elements and shifting clarity. Another forgotten firmament rolled into view, dark pulses teeming with stings of light, waves of a billion perishing cells.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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