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L'homme au Chapeau Melon IL'homme au Chapeau Melon
There is an unmistakable waft of dirt in the air. It’s the kind you always smell just as rain clouds start to set in, a prelude, a ritual. The wind brings up a blanket of dust as if to cushion the downpour, to nurture it. It runs to and fro, busy, arranging pillows, straightening creases in th
by ~kazmiz
The Future is BrightIt’s so hot your mind is turning into sludge, and everything, even thought, seems to lean in on itself, asleep, half-dead, a zombie. All the little, irrelevant parts of yourself seep out through cracks and rough patchwork as though you were trying to cover the loose boards of your consciousness with funnels, coffee filters, and the gaps between your fingers. The memory of your first birthday is the first to go; it leaks and trails behind you before evaporating into a thin mist. Suddenly, your job becomes less important. So does your car, your insurance, your Halo highscore. Little by little, you forget yourself. You make room,The Future is Bright
by ~kazmiz
The Purpose of NamesPassacaglia. A swing of a word, one quarter short of a full stride. A journey and a kiss. There is always a kiss. That is the fate of all journeys. And there is always someone who gives it, someone nameless, forgotten, extrapolated from a dream within a dream, from a Chinese box wrought of fantasy and happenstance.The Purpose of Names
Journey is Dream, free, glorious, terrifying, musical Dream.
This Journey is Passacaglia. It is one quarter short of a full stride: there is no kiss, no gentle brushing of lip against lip in this journey, this three-quarters-only of a Dream.
This Journey starts like all
by ~kazmiz
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