How the jagged edges of ruined buildings
Scar the horizon like evil trees,
And skeletons, rusted scythes
And old billboards line the streets.
We took this thing out a couple weeks ago. Oh, how it’s grown since. Everything’s overflown and reeks of something wildly unpleasant. Upon further inspection, we found a woman’s ear buried down under. It felt like rubber. And also, piles and piles of video tapes; old cassettes, VCR’s, whatever. The whole thing was difficult to...tame — the best word I can find for the whole ordeal — and especially the thick sludge that sat, brooding at the bottom of it all.
We found a famous professor who worked at a famous university to take a look. She said it was indeed strange — it seemed to be evolving constantly — she picked up a few scraps and held them up to the light and gasped. We need to dig further, she said. We shook and trembled and nodded.
So the landing is almost moist, if not damp and clustered with viscous fluids of varying darkness. And on top of it, leatherlike platforms hovered and floated about. We found swirls of dreams, at first. Translucent, eel-like entities danced above us. But those passed by, and as the light dimmed, as if passing into some eternal dusk, we could see the remnants of cities and visions.
The sky moaned with a visceral tone and gut, and pouring forth a dusty, red-brown fog. And then the distant shrieks that sliced the dirty air, the trash and spirits that loomed large and small everywhere. It was windy too, and the breeze was scathing hot, burning with acidity. But most of all, we saw the memories of some past lives — not dark, per se, but grotesque in a deformed childish way, in impossibly painful angles and teasing, taunting expressions. And they would whisper to us, between laughs and cries, in the middle of it all, inescapable:
With you I linger endlessly,
Talking of some distant land,
Wishing to see the lovely sea,
But having to do with this ancient sand.
The breaking of souls —
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