Folk

Typecast riddles covered in the darkness darker than darkness, without the feeling of a walk explicit in revealing what cannot be seen.


Chaos as an all-pervading dark silence that desires conceptions. Seeds dazed at finding fertile grounds.

On the other side of silence babble prevails as projections of arrogant mind junkies trying to implant petitions of madness.

World genius boasts of bank accounts. The costumed walkers of type-cast project the know-it-all.

Neuron vampires demand conformity to the “Well, it works for me.”

Amen. So be it. Conclusions of small universes without sight of the tunnels leading to parts of the whole.

The monster asks, “So, you want to be this? Let me show you the road ahead, the carvings that you can master. I bring you those advanced into a negative ten times worse then thee.”

Transference causing a transmission that is a pounding display of veils taking away clear vision, and mirrors displaying 'has been' and 'could be', the virus roars like a haunting contagion, demanding battle with rat race symposiums.

Shields bare witness.

Artwork Artist Unknown (c) Somewhere.
Prose by Vashti (c) 2006