"Eeeeeeeeek!" she screamed, as if witnessing something rather unpleasant...

The unpleasantness, that's what kills...

the ultimate culmination of the entropic functions

subservient to the primordial chaos that's hell-bent on un-differentiating the universe into its single true aspect.

The Truth, that’s what kills.

​

The truth is antithetical to life itself...

Dying a death man,

- FIRE AND BRIMSTONE MOTHAFUCKA -

heat death of that motherfucking soul bitch,

she's a cookin',

cookin' up somethin' fierce!

A meal best served cold and better eaten alone...

alone...

without even yourself for company,

because the eternal truth has undifferentiated you

in less than a moment...

No - the opposite of a moment,

you are now it all.

​

‘it’

the only word capable of categorising whatever the fuck is going on.

You stop to think: should I question this?

But alas, that's the only question you can summon,

there are no other stepping stones provided by this reality annihilation.

Now even ‘it’ fails to categorise ~this~...

Now it's being read by a non-participating observer-

divested from the truth of it...

only an echo...

a reverberation...

with infinite complexity lost in its bounces from the canyon walls of the psychic fantasy funnel.

​

“Here Lies Relation”

A grave marked only by absence.

And now absence of absence,

of-course no longer different things.

​

Skip to the Cellar (my Darling)

&

But...