I. Twenty-five years.Twenty-five million specks of dust.The flakes of rustblew through plastic and boards:life passed…
The way in…I witnessed myself: Trapped in a year,a model in a bottle,sealed in the…
Flowing is the tide
to sink through the sands.
Faster in speed.
Slower in thought.
Decisive in action.
A snort and puff;liquor pours outthrough pores, flushed and fierce,and steam fills the voidwhile clanks…
Words are wielded like torches,unintentionally hot,accidentally unconstrained,and hit patches of flesh we did not expect.…
Bodi opened his eyes. After a bright flash of light, objects came into focus. He saw the stone beneath him. He could feel the cool, wet touch, parts riddled with dampened moss. Further out, he made out the mouth of the cave, water pouring down the entrance from the darkness above. He began to make out shapes in front of him. A tall, dark figure stood at the mouth, tossing stones over the edge. Bodi remembered why he was here.
A shrine is a holy place. It is a place that is highly revered by a culture. It is a person of historical significance. It is a library that holds all the knowledge of the world. In this case, it is a relic designed to challenge.
Tell me where you’ve been and hold the key up
Don’t look at your numbers,
look at me and ask.
neglect or not.