rife with fear i cower, quake scream caged in dry throat my eyes slammed shut as if sewn thoughts dark and delirious bloodless fingers clawing blackened bodies sawing the thunderous air fear i will not go into the secret place under the city on this sacred eve but in seven nights i will catch myself treading, spinning, moving, falling, catching myself in their thick midst in thin hope of finding her infinite skin - copyright © 2002 Blake Nancarrow firstname.lastname@example.org Oct 31/96
Today I found some extra time so I put it in a clear bottle, to watch it, hours upon hours, swirling about, semi-transparent quicksilver, the glue between moments. It wasn't much and it has already started to fade. Tomorrow, I will look for more, perhaps in the same place. I'm hoping I will meet with success. I'm hoping I might found a lot. Then I will bottle it all up and show it to people. I wonder if I could make much money from it... - copyright © 2002 Blake Nancarrow email@example.com Oct 15/96
I'm 30 minutes past the witching hour. I remember here, 1000 years ago, that the hour was not midnight but 1am. It's so difficult to remember. The cats probably know but they refuse to speak--their perogative. I'm occupying this body at a late party of writhing flesh and all I can think of is primal, grating, pounding blood. Just blood. And your imminent appearence in the Dark City. - copyright © 2002 Blake Nancarrow firstname.lastname@example.org Oct 13/96
I will place a recent work here periodically. In general, I do not create according to a deadline.
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