#zombiebites

Crash and Burn. The dream was always the same.

Flight of The Sorcerer. In stillness, mind reaches forth to embrace the distant vista.

Greivestones. The weight of our sorrows are the stones we carry.

There is no right time, no circumstance of perfect equation. We die, waiting for perfection.

I heard the owls hoot two nights running. They were closer,  louder than I had heard before. It took me a day's confusion to sift the answer: Concentric circles repeating, like polka dots, like breadcrumbs, structured shadows caught in a sideways glance and the echoes of their shapes plain in his light. two tin cans with a taut string between them. My hand wrapped gently around the one. I raise it up  to my open mouth.

Psyche Delectus: Conjunct The Book opens the Door. Recommended Listening: Crystal Castles Concrete from Amnesty (I) {8x5.33, Digital Images manipulated in Adobe Photoshop}

Spirit Path. "Between the mundane world and the land of shades there are many paths.  On these trails, the two realms collapse onto each other like stacks of magazines dropped and scattered.  Many a strange apparition exists on the twilight passages that lead beyond, but few have returned to share what they have seen."

Ages III, Agent Abrasax. The Fire is a compulsion.