Day by day, I dig deeper into the layers of the worlds I have created and the worlds that have created me. There is no core, yet Carcosa is at the center of it all, doom and solipsism knotted into the roots of a yellow-tainted Yggdrasil. Carcosa and the deus absconditus, both Demiurge and Logos clothed in tattered yellow robes, tendril-roots writhing against themselves behind a merciful mask.
In less dreamlike, obsessive news- at least to me- I think that the neighborhood roaches and I have reached an agreement. Alas, I fear that it's really just a repeat of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, though the Soviet and Third Reich roles have yet to be assigned.
I highly recommend visiting the Broken Obelisk outside the Rothko Chapel in the wee hours, when it's just you and the sculpture/monument in question.
1 comment:
You'd be the Germans on this particulat conflict. Most likely to attack first but be drowned by the sheer numbers of you enemy.
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