skulls filled with potent orange juice and pungent thoughts.
Though architecturally sound and mathematically correct,
the remainder of our days could be less than one,
more than zero,
or equal to everything.
A stranger to the self,
one could wonder why everything is exceptionally extravagant,
if draped in purples and punctured by shooting stars.
Chipping the obsidian,
an arrow pierces the dying gasps,
and cuts through a spatial accession of infinity's glitches.
"Run-on" you'd say...
and so I ran.
[20:45|20.12.2011]
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