Automatic Writing

Vast lightnings and thunderclaps come out of the empty spaces. The harrowing and division of vision; tesseract garden designed to bring about a new sense, a new posture with which to meet the oncoming fist, clutched and steelgleaming out of the sky.
Formless, antic clay, entropic chimeras cackling and snarling and smirking at the new day risen, the crab in her chest danced like a new talisman for daylight -- something hidden and inverse, but not to be mocked. Hold it close like a a golden hand or a prized marble - or like the poison that all men know. Windy outside - and I sit alone speaking empty things, wild and mournful laments, funeral dirges--requiems played on rusting instruments.
The stronghold has been raised, only shackles and mind forged manacles remain. Waking fucked and wildeyed in the gutter, he'll shudder and cook his forearm for breakfast.