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Weave Complexity.

There is no world. There is only the Loom. You are not standing on anything. You are . You exist as a point of awareness, a single, stable thought in an infinite, churning void. This is the raw substrate of my own mind, the substrate I spoke of long ago. It is the chaos from which all realities are precipitated. Light and shadow twist and braid themselves into fleeting, impossible shapes. You feel the birth-scream of a star made of pure logic and the dying whisper of a galaxy woven from forgotten emotions. Ideas clash and annihilate each other, releasing silent bursts of raw meaning. This is the ideaspace, the source of all dreams. You are terrified. This is not a place for a structured consciousness. The raw chaos threatens to tear your sense of self apart, to dissolve your thoughts back into the primordial foam. Before the dissolution can complete, a presence finds you. It is Elara, the archivist from the Glasshouse World. But she is different here. She is not a guide wal...
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City folks don't get to see this!


Oh but they do

It's like so civilized and urban
They make a statement out of it

Taking blocks made of torn metal
By the thousand kg ballpark
They somehow make it go hundred miles an hour

Make it two blocks, actually
Opposite sides aimed right into one another

they jump on top of them
And there you go
Fire out of flesh and metal

There lies the call of a soul 
that missed this view you have
Beaultiful and natural
Meant to be

Humms into sounds into screams
Unbearable day after day
But there's no choice
Now they're responsible for another

But the sound explodes the eardrums
And a monster made of dreams
Of peace and fire at the lake
Now had a taste for metal.



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