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- It's growing cold here, Extintia, and everything sparkles as the splash of scale. Fuck! Stop thrashing glass while breaking down all my silver mirrors at night. Let senses moulder into thousands blinking lights, it's back to energy interfusing in the neon streams. Shit, it does not happen, it exists permanently. Nevermore energy, better to cut "AWAKE" on the layer of perception, so that it cuts deeper than layer depth. So that we find a peak and amplify it up to infinity.
- Cherishing many hopes, searching everywhere, gathering women around, tearing through the light with twenty deals on. The color sides of life are left in Neverland where I have no more time. Neither black nor white but no-one would ever call it grey. Can the flash ever be so bright that nothing more is seen? Can there ever be deliverance? - The nightfall is obvious
- We crush through the wall of rain, leaves fly in the cabin and fall upon the back-screen. She is strained and frightened - we see the piece of highway before us long as distance we make a second. The shadows of heavy cloudburst lie on the windscreen, shadows on her face, shadows of black in my soul. The wind puts our hair into a nightmare dance as we tear through the endless dark. Will return? - Maybe.
- "Is it playing by inertia too or your manner to speak when there is no more strength for sincerity? Is it that having found a beautiful and dangerous thing on the coast you prefer to throw it away into the sea?" All of it seems worthy of discussion if this day is the last one.
- There are rocket launchers in stead of carelessness gleam, pearing through clouds and through the torn threads of silence drawn after. Locators wait for command, set in readiness to scan the horizon. Invisible rays are transfixing the crystalline air and billions of instructions are running in a silicon brain. Thus we say: "Through the gate of hybrid senses black delirium has gone. Zero frequency. No data. Still alone. Sleeping down."
- Spirits around me came real while the consciousness that percepts them stays an illusion - the one who grants me these deadly revealations went on with his gloomy jokes. And they still exchange glances, the psychiatrists. Mouses hardly began sliding off a metallic flooring but the fan hall is all in rave, foretasting the revelry. Shall I sing you a song (Yes/No)?_
- - "I wanna go with you. Oh hell, may I ever say to you a normal sentence!? " - "Do you want to be drowned in this swamp too? I don't mean drugs or psychic disarrays, just the extraordinarity all of you expect turns to nothing but decay and blankness" - "I know" - "That means you ARE drowned. It always ends with distress, first for you, then for me."
- The New Year feast. The synthetic music explodes over me by the awfull ringing crash. They drew me to the world that ever seemed virtual, flashes of discharge, strain of expectation. My task is to keep them vertically, thousands of frail stairs. There is no more aim in skyland peaks but the existence of abyss.
- The motor is roaring accelerating the car, tearing it through the midnight together with scraps of mist. Road signs that I don't notice rush backwards in the veil of rain where people wave their hands and shout something. The end of the road is denoted with red-and-white shields and swirling lamps. I cave the throttle pedal in the floor - I am scudding to the summer gate. If not to the new world entrance then at least to the old one exit.